


And they will be rising like a phoenix from the ashes

by Cyberrat



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bodily Fluids, Bondage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Torture, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 116,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of their former master, Spock and Jim fall into the hands of Vargaz and his bodyguard Banta - two exeptionally sadistic beings. They soon have to realize that they will have to go through hell if they want to make their dreams come true: Become free men and travel to the seemingly out-of-reach stars. Their only ally: An old country Doctor.</p><p>AU-Slave fiction. Story is going to be quite dark in places. Warnings will be issued at the beginning of each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that English is not my first language and there might be a few mistakes. However, if you point them out to me I'll correct them immediately.
> 
>  
> 
> No warnings for the Prologue

.oO Prologue Oo.

 

The mansion was pretty small. In Vargaz’ opinion it wasn’t even worth calling it a mansion. It only had twenty rooms, for crying out loud! The fields surrounding it were run down and one could only imagine their former glory. It was a real shame how K’troll, the old fart, had let everything go down the drain over here.

‘How did he manage to get by for so long, anyway?’ Vargaz thought, while throwing his used smoke down on the patio and stomping with the heel of his expensive boot on it. He only had to look at Banta, before the tall, burly man shoved off from the wall he had been leaning on and followed his boss inside the rundown building.

Inside was a flurry of activity – the last of the servants were bundling everything up, while a few wealthy aliens pointed at pieces of art they’d like to purchase and that weren’t already sold to someone.

After K’troll’s death it hadn’t taken long for the vultures to settle in and rip everything apart. He may have been batshit crazy at the end, but he still had some valuable items that were sought after from the more cultivated of collectors and Vargaz had made sure to immediately leave his own home turf in the capable hands of his servants in order to fly over to this corner of the galaxy and rifle through everything before the others caught on to it.

Banta was his usual, silent self; hovering behind him and looking intimidating and tall – that’s what he did best and that’s what he was there for. Vargaz valued the Triptochid greatly; he was a sadistic bastard and it showed in the three shifty eyes that seemed to be everywhere at once, surreptitiously watching their surroundings and keeping unwanted attention effectively at bay. Only a few of his servants back home had dared to try and play with the burly man and his bulging muscles – they were the ones that were either working down in the mines or sneaking through the shadows in the corners of his villa; not daring to get caught in the penetrating, evil glare of the three eyes, after Banta had been finished with them.

“Hey. Are you finished already?” Vargaz asked the auctioneer that came hurrying down the broad central stairs. The little, redskinned man obviously wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard Vargaz, but Banta made sure they were noticed; for such a huge individual he was deceptively fast – his arm shot out and caught the hurrying man by the scruff, lifting him with practised ease.

The man’s chubby arms raised with a choked squeal and he tried loosening his collar that was digging in his fleshy neck, while his round eyes were practically bulging out of his skull.

“M-Mr. Vargaz...! I didn’t – I hadn’t... I ... could you please tell your... ah... could you tell this gentleman to...” The already red skin of his face got even redder, with a distinctly unhealthy shade of blue and his speech devolved into gurgling noises, while his feet were kicking in the air. Vargaz grunted and nudged Banta with his elbow.

“Let him down,” he growled. The Triptochid simply opened his fist and let the auctioneer fall down upon his plump behind. The little man hurried to get on his feet, while he gasped for air and rubbed his neck.

“Th... thank you. Can I... uh... help you, Mr. Vargaz?” he asked nervously, rubbing his hands at the tuxedo he was wearing.

“I kindly wanted to know, when I can expect to get the items I purchased. I’m a busy man, you know.”

“Yes. Yes of course. They should be almost ready, Sir. We will load them immediately into your shuttlecraft. Without charge, of course. Ah... I will... see to it that it is immediately...” The man made a few steps backwards, obviously trying to get away from the two men as fast as possible. Vargaz watched him with one raised eyebrow, slowly crossing his arms in front of his chest. He wanted to shoo the auctioneer away and get rid of the stuttering fool, when Banta’s gravelly voice sounded in his ear from behind: “Hey, Boss. Over there.”

A large fist was raised and pointed towards a shadowy corner of the entrance hall. Vargaz needed to squint – he did not possess the three excellent eyes of a Triptochid – but eventually he made out a wooden crate that stood partly concealed under the broad staircase.

“What’s in there?” he asked the auctioneer who looked even more uncomfortable now.

“It’s already been purchased, Sir.”

“I didn’t ask that, now, did I? What’s in there?” Vargaz said and strode towards the corner and the crate. Banta shoved the little man unceremoniously forward, when he followed his boss and the auctioneer heaved a long suffering sigh after a few moments, obviously resigning himself to his fate.

He hurried after Vargaz and cleared his throat.

“As I said, they have already been purchased by Mr. Tikata and his servant will be here soon in order to take them to their new home...”

Vargaz threw a quick look over his shoulder; an unholy gleam was entering his dark eyes and he motioned for Banta to take care of the crate.

“Tikata, you say? I want it. Whatever it is.”

“I knew you would... wait, what?” The auctioneer gaped at him and started hectically searching for something in his tuxedo, ultimately pulling a handkerchief out with which he wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

Banta had seized the crate that was approximately five feet wide and six feet tall and pulled it out from its hiding place in the darkness under the stairs.

“How much has he promised you?” Vargaz asked, stepping closer towards the crate, while Banta tried prying the lid off from the wooden, featureless box.

The auctioneer sighed and let his shoulders sag.

“One thousand credits each.”

Vargaz raised his eyebrows in the man’s direction and stepped closer, when Banta finally managed to open the crate. They both leaned over the rim and while Banta simply grunted in surprise, Vargaz nearly flinched backwards in the face of the unexpected picture that greeted him.

Out of the darkness of the crate one pair of luminous, golden eyes stared blinking up into the light. Vargaz thought for one wild second that he was looking at a cat, until he realized that the face surrounding the blinking eyes was distinctly hairless.

“What the...” murmured the man and shoved the lid of the box further away. “Help me, you oaf,” Vargaz hissed at Banta, who shot him a dirty look with all three eyes, before he used his considerable bulk to shove the crate further into the light, so his boss would be able to see what was inside.

Silence settled over the three men in the corner of the entrance hall, while around them the other customers were still haggling for the art pieces.

Now that the artificial light was shining inside the dark recesses of the box, Vargaz could see that there was not only one pair of eyes, but two. The other one, however, was of a dark, brown colour and therefore had not the luminescence of the golden ones that had been shining like flashlights.

“A human and a Vulcan?” Vargaz finally said, after he had taken in pointed ears and a mop of untidy, blonde hair on the two occupants of the box.

They were cowering together, not even batting an eyelash now, that they had accustomed themselves to the brightness of the light after the darkness of the wooden box. One could not see much; they were jammed together and showed no inclination of moving away from one another. The human had a thick piece of cloth tied around his head and preventing him from speaking, while the Vulcan had a steel collar around his slender neck.

“Yes. They were K’troll’s special servants. And they are already purchased. As I have said,” the auctioneer said, slowly getting angry with these customers. Vargaz raised his eyebrows and stepped back from the crate, turning towards the little, chubby man and rubbing his chin.

“Tikata gives you one thousand credits each, you said? I give you two thousand only for the human,” he mused after a while. The auctioneer straightened his spine and shook his head.

“That is not possible.”

“And why ever not?” Vargaz asked, mildly amused that the little man would dare and try to refuse him the purchase.

“They are only sold together. They are not to be separated,” the auctioneer said, raising his chin and clearing his throat, after he got a glimpse of the dangerous light in Vargaz’ eyes. “...sir,” he whispered and drew his shoulders up to his ears.

“Why are they only sold together? I have no need for a Vulcan. Only trouble with their strength.”

The auctioneer rubbed his hands slightly together and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked as if he wanted to be far, far away right now.

“I have been assured that they have been together these past five years and that you will have far more trouble with the human, if you separate him from the Vulcan. The Vulcan is docile as long as the human is around; additionally he is perpetually restrained.”

The auctioneer walked forward and had to stretch in order to reach inside the box and seize the black hair of the Vulcan and draw his head back.

Vargaz stepped closer again and peered inside. Golden eyes were narrowing and watching mistrustful what the two men were doing to the Vulcan, who placidly let his head fall backwards in order to let them gaze upon the steel collar he was wearing.

It had a ring of metal in its front; threaded through the ring was a chain that ended in – the Vulcan raised his arms obligingly – metal cuffs around his wrists.

“The chain can be elongated or shortened. Furthermore there is a substance one could use in order to render him helpless,” the auctioneer said and let go of the Vulcan. Vargaz grunted slightly and stepped back again, nodding towards Banta, who raised the lid of the crate and placed it back in its place.

“But as I said; as long as they are together the Vulcan is pretty peaceful. Its the human one should be wary off.”

Vargaz was silent for a moment and scratched at his cheek with the nail of his thumb.

“But Tikata wants them, eh?” he said again. Vargaz hated Tikata. That pompous idiot on the other side of his planet, that was trying to outsmart him in every business.

He had no idea why that bastard was interested in a pair of rebellious servants, but the fact alone that he was interested in them meant for Vargaz, that he needed to have those two for himself.

The auctioneer started wringing his hands and whined, “But Sir! They already have been purchased. It is not possible for you to –“

“I pay you four thousand credits for the pair.”

The little, red skinned man nearly choked on his own tongue.

“Four... four thousand, sir?” the auctioneer whispered. Vargaz grinned lazily, when he saw the greedy glint in the little man’s eyes and motioned behind his back for Banta to start securing the box.


	2. Chapter 1: The Doctor arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Warnings: Mention and use of drugs as well as angst.

Leonard McCoy sighed, as he parked his hovercar outside the huge brass gate and kicked the door of the drivers seat with unnecessary force open.

“In the middle of the night. Who does he think he is? I’m at my damn evening classes and he just calls and...” McCoy crawled back inside the car and seized the bag on the passenger seat, while he pitched his voice a little higher and said nasally, “’You want money, McCoy? Then get your ass over here. I’m paying you good, McCoy – best patient, McCoy – have invested thousands in you, McCoy.’ Jackass. If I go in there and it reeks of this damn Ruby again, I’m totally gonna loose it.”

The Doctor stomped around the car, while he was muttering and opened the well oiled gate with such force, that it bounced noisily off of the stone wall it was hinged on. The Southerner grimaced in the face of the ruckus at – he checked his wrist watch – 2300, but ultimately shrugged his shoulders. There was no other house in range for a couple miles; Vargaz’ estate was huge and he somehow doubted, that anyone had heard the crashing of the metal on stone.

Just as he doubted anyone heard him still muttering while he started the walk up the gravel path that was snaking through the ring of closely planted trees that was encasing the estate in a generous radius.

“He’s going to smoke himself to death with it. I’m slowly but surely out of any ideas. And how’d that sound in my application for Starfleet? ‘Had a patient for three years and was unable to wean him off of questionable substances.’”

McCoy stepped out of the trees and allowed himself a short moment to pause and enjoy the view. One could say a lot of things about Vargaz – a lot of really, really nasty things – but the guy knew how to present and hold an estate. The mansion was large and old looking, despite the fact that it could not be older than twenty years. The whole colony here had been founded about twenty years ago and McCoy was maybe an old country Doctor, but he could do the maths, thank you very much.

It was not high – three floors, to be exact – but it was wide. Like a resting cat it stretched lazily to the left and right, cowering in midst of the well kept lawn.

McCoy squinted into the distance, where one could see the first rows of the crops Vargaz was – amongst other things – dealing in and blew a relieved breath when he could see no tiny, black dots amidst the bright crops that were indicating some unfortunate worker that had been incurring Vargaz’ or Banta’s wrath.

He did not envy anyone working here. The jobs on this planet were plenty, but most of them were provided by Antonio Vargaz and he... well. Vargaz was a pain in the arse, but Banta, his bodyguard, was even nastier. He was the one patrolling the vast estate and venting his bad temper on the unfortunate workers that somehow got on his nerves.

McCoy slowly shook his head and started walking again. He could have driven up to the front porch, but he enjoyed the walk up to the villa on most days – and he needed the additional minutes in order to find his equilibrium. He was a temperamental and honest man and seeing how Vargaz treated most of his servants was usually the crux of their frequent arguments.

However, Vargaz trusted McCoy to some extent – at least more than he trusted the other physicians on the planet. McCoy still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but well... there was that.

For a few minutes only the soft rustling of the grass and the crunching of gravel under McCoy’s boots was to be heard. The wind picked up and the Doctor pulled his coat closer around his person. For the most part the planet was very similar to earth; however, the change between seasons was almost nonexistent and it had generally warm days and rather cold nights.

“Could be lying in my nice and warm bed right now...” he whispered and stepped onto the lowest of the few steps leading up to the porch with an almost triumphant air and stopped for one or two heart beats before climbing them and stepping in front of the door.

He reached for the brass ring adorning the front door in order to knock loudly and braced himself for what was about to happen.

 

McCoy scrunched his nose, when he entered the office of Vargaz behind a silent Banta. The Doctor had been a little taken aback at suddenly being confronted with the burly Triptochid, as the door had been opened and if the sour expression on Banta’s face was anything to go by, then he didn’t like the degradation to mere servant one bit.

However, the unusual greeting was quickly forgotten, when his sensitive nostrils caught a whiff of what he had been dreading.

“Vargaz! I told you to stop with the Ruby! If you don’t manage to puncture your lungs with the stuff, your brain will do the trick,” he hissed and stomped towards the desk, where Antonio Vargaz sat, his dark head bent over a few documents and the still smoking joint in an expensive looking ashtray at his elbow.

A vein in McCoy’s temple began to pound and he clunked his bag noisily down upon the luxurious oak desk.

“You got pain, or what?” he growled, snapping the locks open, but before he could reach inside and look for the obligatory hypo with pain killer, Vargaz’ hand shot out and gripped his left forearm forcefully.

McCoy’s head shot upwards and he stared directly into muddy, brown eyes that were now fixing him.

“Shut up and close your bag. I did not call you here for my sake,” Vargaz said with a low voice. His eyes narrowed slightly and he held the gaze of the Doctor for a couple more seconds, before he released McCoy’s arm and bowed back over the documents he was perusing.

The Doctor frowned and turned around in order to watch Banta, who stood impassively at the door with his usual broad stance. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest and all three eyes were currently fixed upon McCoy, who shuddered slightly and turned back towards Vargaz.

“Banta seems to be all right...” he groused and closed the locks of his bag again. Vargaz took a pen slowly from the side of his desk and let the fingers of his other hand trail down the paper in front of him, before they stopped at the very bottom and he slowly signed with a practiced flourish. Following this, he put the pen away again and blew on the ink in order to dry it, poked at the dark signature carefully with a finger and, upon assuring that it was dry enough, rolled the document and put it inside the drawer of his desk.

Only then did he raise his head, clasp his hands together in front of him and gazed upon the Georgian man.

“Did I say that I needed you for Banta?” he asked coolly and McCoy pressed his lips together into a narrow line. A few seconds ticked by in which the two men were just staring at each other, until Vargaz sat back in his chair, took the joint from its resting place on the ashtray and drew a deep lung full of the expensive drug.

His face was perfectly calm, but his eyes were full of smug challenge, when he saw the Doctor’s hackles rise in response to the blatant disregard of his rules. Vargaz leaned forward and blew the greyish smoke at McCoy, who had to force himself to remain calm and standing and not take a hasty step backwards.

He tried not to inhale too much of the Ruby smoke, while his eyebrows drew together into a thunderous expression.

“So why am I here?! You drew me out of my evening classes. I hope for your sake, that you didn’t summon me for shits and giggles.”

Vargaz’ lips curled into a lazy smile and he laughed slightly.

“Ah yeah. That’s right. How are your studies going, Doctor? I’ll miss you, when you attend Starfleet. When’s the big day? Are wife and kid ready to go?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with unholy glee. McCoy’s face became stony and he drew his shoulders slightly backwards.

“None of your business,” he croaked at last. It was dangerous to give Vargaz any information. He had learned this the hard way. Since the news of his application for Starfleet had slipped, the businessman seemed intent to summon him as often as possible – just to punish him and rub under his nose that McCoy simply could not refuse the extra money; McCoy was certain of it.

Vargaz laughed slightly and held his hands up, the finger spread peacefully (the joint was wedged between ring finger and middle finger of his right hand).

“Aahh so much hostility! I thought you would enjoy a little small talk. You men from the South are known for your camaraderie, after all. Well. Then let us discuss business, eh?” he said jovially, but his eyes remained cold and distant. McCoy said nothing and waited. Vargaz slowly stood up, although he remained standing behind his desk.

“I have been today on Mulkler 7. K’troll has finally snuffed it and I could purchase a few items. You are to examine some of the more... exotic ones.”

McCoy slowly raised his chin. He felt a prickle of trepidation go down his spine.

“I am no connoisseur of the arts, Vargaz. I’m a Doctor,” he said slowly.

“I’m talking about living things, Doctor. People to be exact.”

McCoy stuck his hands behind his back, so Vargaz would not be able to see how he slowly balled them into fists – he had forgotten that Banta was standing at the door and could see it exceptionally well.

The feeling of trepidation bloomed into suspicion and his stomach seemed to shrivel in on itself. Vargaz could not mean... he could not possibly mean...

“Send them to a Doctor, then. If you hired new workers I don’t have to examine them in the middle of the night,” he croaked slowly, hoping despite his better knowledge that he had made the wrong conclusion.

Vargaz’ dark eyes were watching him intently, as he slowly took another drag and put the joint down in the ashtray. He turned his head away, when he blew the smoke out this time, but his eyes remained fixed on McCoy as he said, “They are no ordinary workers. I’m not sure what K’troll had them for, but I purchased them.”

He leaned forward, bracing himself with both hands on the smooth surface of his oak desk. “I purchased them. Do you understand what I mean?”

McCoy’s mouth went dry and he seized his bag and made a step backwards.

“I understand perfectly well. You have bought yourself a couple of slaves,” he spat the last word full of disgust and his hand balled painfully around the handle of his bag. “That’s barbaric. In this day and age and... no. No I won’t be taking a part in... in slavery,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest like mad, as he saw Vargaz’ face darken. The Doctor quickly turned around and wanted to leave, but he bounced right off of a dark and breathing wall – Banta. That damned bastard could move without a sound. The huge Triptochid raised his arms and curled his fists none too gently around McCoy’s biceps, turning him around forcefully.

Vargaz clicked with his tongue and slowly shook his head – he was clearly disappointed.

“Doctor. I thought better of you. They are just a couple of stupid slaves. Probably raised just to serve others. They are uneducated, scruffy, little bastards that have no place in this world without someone who takes care of them. And if it hadn’t been me, it would have been Tikata,” he said, while slowly going around his large desk. McCoy never looked away from him, despite his struggling against the vice like grip Banta had on him. He was sure that he would have a print of every single finger on his skin tomorrow.

“You’ve got servants. What do you want slaves for?” he finally said, his voice tight with disgust and a good amount of fear. Vargaz came to a halt in front of him and slowly leaned with his arse against the edge of the desk. He looked contemplating.

“I’m not sure as of yet. But I will find something for them – I’m pretty creative,” he mused slowly. McCoy ground his teeth together and shook his head.

“No. I won’t be playing a part in that. I already have walked on the edge of legality by not reporting you to the authorities for your possession of Ruby,” here he nodded towards the ashtray, “I won’t be getting into slavery now.”

The man in front of him slowly crossed his arms in front of his chest and rubbed across his chin with one hand.

“You won’t be playing a part, good Doctor. All you have to do is simply do your job and examine the two. I don’t want some disease ridden fleabags in my mansion. That’s all you have to do. It’s not that hard, now, is it?”

“I won’t be – “

“I’d think about it, if I were you, Doctor McCoy. After all, your wife will be on earth by the end of the week. You’ll need a babysitter for Joanna, don’t you? You have so much to do with your work at the hospital and the evening classes. It would be a shame if the babysitter wasn’t... ah... up to par, now, wouldn’t it?” Vargaz said quietly and the corners of his mouth slowly curled upwards, when McCoy immediately halted his struggling and went rigid in the hard grasp of Banta.

The craggy, tanned Georgian face blanched ridiculously fast and McCoy’s mouth fell slightly open – however, no sound was forthcoming. He closed it again and opened it a second time.

The slight smirk on Vargaz’ face became a full blown, nasty grin, until McCoy finally croaked, “How do you know all this? How do you know that Jocelyn...”

He fell silent again; his throat closed around a lump; he felt dizzy and unwell.

Vargaz sighed and stood upright again. He only shook his head and strutted around his desk.

“Don’t be nosy, Doctor. It is not very becoming. Never mind how I got the information. What is really important is...” He stood behind his desk again and slowly took a seat, regarding McCoy solemnly, “Will you examine my new... livestock?”

McCoy’s panting was the only thing to be heard in the room for a few moments. Vargaz could see oh-so-clearly every thought that went through the head of the Doctor. The face of the Southerner was like an open book.

He grinned in satisfaction even before McCoy hung his head low in defeat.

Banta let the man go upon a look from his boss and Vargaz nodded.

“Excellent. I won’t have to tell you, that this will be our little secret, Doctor. Banta will escort you to the room where the two are kept in. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

It was a clear dismissal and McCoy did not look again at Vargaz, when he turned around on his heels and walked with legs that felt stiff and numb towards the door.

“Oh, and Doctor?”

McCoy halted, but did not turn around. He could hear the negligence in Vargaz’ voice, as the man lazily said, “Do ask them for their names, will you? I have no idea what they’re called.”

Every little hair on McCoy’s body stood up in refusal over this blatant disregard of human rights. He did not say a word and stormed out of the room.

 

Banta and McCoy did say nothing during their trip through the mansion. The two could not stand each other and the Doctor suspected that Banta knew very well that he would not take kindly to any jokes whatsoever right now.

They went into the part of the building that held the rooms of the servants – there were not many in the house; McCoy only knew of two or three maids and the cook – and the Doctor clutched his bag in front of him like a shield, when Banta stopped at last and opened a door to the left.

The room itself was pretty small, but as ornately decorated and furnished as the rest of the house. The only thing that seemed out of place, was the wooden crate standing wedged between the narrow bed and the desk. The light of the moon was almost sufficient in his current state; it shone directly through the window; a window which – McCoy had to look a second time – was protected from the outside with steel bars.

He pressed his lips together into a narrow line and turned towards Banta, who flicked the light switch on.

“Where are they?” he demanded. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, drive back home and crawl more then ever into his bed – preferably with a bottle of gin clutched in his arms.

The bodyguard nodded towards the wooden crate. McCoy took a few moments to realize what the Triptochid was telling him. A mixture of white hot anger and icy panic swept over him.

“They are in the crate? Are you nuts? Open the damned thing!” the Doctor spat and quickly let his bag fall to the ground, in order to walk over towards the box and look for the opening mechanism.

Banta strolled over to him with a casual air that made his hackles rise. However, he did say nothing, as the burly man produced a crowbar from behind the box and started prying the lid off of it with practiced ease.

The Doctor just stared with a slightly opened mouth. He felt sick to the stomach and could not believe what was happening.

‘Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? God I hope this is not real,’ he thought, but as the lid was shoved off the box and he took a look inside, the horror of the reality of the situation nearly brought him to his knees.

Indeed, there were two individuals sitting inside the tight confines of the crate, clutching at each other desperately, while they stared heavenwards with nearly insane eyes. McCoy’s mouth fell open and closed again uselessly.

The clinical, ever calm Doctor-part in him catalogued the fact that one of them was a Vulcan and that they seemed to be well-fed on first glance. The human part of him, was concerning itself with another question altogether. He turned towards Banta, that had stepped aside and was leaning with one shoulder against the wall.

“How long have they been in there?” he croaked and ground his teeth together, when the Triptochid only shrugged his shoulders.

“Few hours,” he said at last with his deep, gravelly voice.

“Hours?”, McCoy spat and turned towards the two in the crate again. The Vulcan was sitting perfectly still, while the human was visibly and rhythmically bunching his muscles up in a manner that spoke of the agony he must feel about being cramped for hours in a box without the possibility of stretching his muscles.

McCoy reached for him without thinking.

“Here, I’ll help you out. Can you stand? Come... Stretch your bones a bit, will ya?” the Doctor urged with a low voice. The human’s eyes narrowed warily, but after he exchanged a short glance with his companion, he slowly raised his arms from where they had been tucked away against his stomach.

They were bound together with a rope that had cut deeply into his wrists – a sign of him trying to leave his imprisonment.

McCoy’s jaw was obviously working, when he seized the young man on both upper arms and hauled him with difficulty into an upright position.

The man was trembling and his eyes rolled back into his head, while he moaned in agony through the gag in his mouth.

“Come out of the crate. I’ll give you a muscle relaxant and pain killer, it’ll help. Can you find purchase to – oh.”

The Vulcan had leaned forward in the box and seized one of the trembling legs of the human, raising it and placing one foot on his shoulder. The human did seem to think nothing of it. He seized gingerly McCoy’s right shoulder with his two bound hands and with the help of the Georgian Doctor and his make-shift stepladder, he climbed out of the box.

McCoy dragged him towards the bed and helped the man sit down. His muscles were convulsing in a manner that looked like insects were crawling under the tanned skin and he was panting heavily into the gag.

The Doctor hurriedly went to his bag and rummaged in it for some hypos. While he administered them and started working on loosening the bindings of the young man – he estimated him to be in his early twenties; about ten years younger than himself – he noticed that the eyes of the man were sharp and always jumping between the Doctor, Banta and his companion that was very gingerly climbing out of the crate.

McCoy had to turn around upon the metallic tinkling and his gut started to churn as he saw the bindings that were preventing the Vulcan from totally lowering his arms – instead he held them clasped together in front of his stomach.

Both wore simple, linen clothes; loose trousers that were held up with string and sleeveless shirts that reminded the Doctor of prison garb.

“You need some – damn rope! – you need something for the pain?”, McCoy asked the Vulcan. He, too, was trembling; however, he seemed to have fewer problems with his body. The tall man turned slightly, never letting Banta go out of the sight of his dark eyes, while he made his way gingerly over towards them and sat down right next to the human.

“No, thank you,” came the soft reply. McCoy paused for the fraction of a second in his struggle with the rope and shot the Vulcan a curious look. The voice had been surprisingly deep for such a slender body and the words had been spoken with precise, clipped pronunciation.

The Doctor growled at last and shoved his hand inside his bag, curling his fingers around a scalpel and opening the ropes with it.

As soon as the hands of the human were free, they shot up and wrenched the cloth gag out of his mouth.

“Are you totally nuts? How dare you shove us into that stinking crate, you bumbling oaf?” he screamed suddenly and McCoy nearly fell on his arse in surprise. He had been expecting a few things – this was none of them. The angry, golden eyes were fixed right at Banta and the hands were curled into tight fists.

The Triptochid’s eyes seemed to gleam in the artificial light that was currently flooding the room and he watched the young man with an interest that made the little hair on McCoy’s neck stand. It was never good to draw the interest of the burly man.

“Wanna go back into the box?” Banta asked calm and shoved off of the wall. “That can be arranged, you know. You two only got a single bed and I’m sure the Vulcan would appreciate being able to stretch out on it. And the box will be way bigger if you don’t have to share it.”

The human positively vibrated with his anger and a vein was popping out on his temple. McCoy drew his eyebrows together and let his palm fall down with force upon the leg of the man in order to get his attention.

“Keep quiet, you dolt. He does not threaten idly. I won’t come back here tomorrow only because your bones are as twisted as a pretzel,” he hissed. Hazel eyes were fixing him; he could see the stubbornness in them and stared grimly back.

“Who are you?” asked the man at last. McCoy took out a tricorder and answered, “Your Doctor, obviously.”

“We never had a Doctor,” said the Vulcan idly and turned his head towards his companion in order to change an enigmatic gaze. The human started to grin as if that had been some kind of joke and then looked back at Banta.

However, it was the Vulcan that piped up, serenely asking, “May I enquire as to who you are? We saw you 6.78 hours prior, when we still were at Master K’troll’s estate.”

Only the slight widening of the three eyes let on, that Banta was kind of disturbed by the lack of fear from these two. His answer was gruff and short.

“None of your business, slaves.”

There was a tension filled silence and McCoy felt distinctly unwell, so he tried running the tricorder across the human; however, the hand of the man shot out and seized his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asked with suspiciously narrowed eyes. McCoy drew his eyebrows together.

“I want to see if you’re all right.”

“No you won’t.”

McCoy’s mouth opened slightly in surprise.

“Ex...cuse me? I am to inspect you two and I – “

“As long as we don’t get any information, you won’t get any information,” the human declared with a fierce light in his eyes. The Vulcan’s low voice added, “It seems only fair. We may be... slaves... but we are not merely... meat.”

The two exchanged another quick look, before they stubbornly gazed upon Banta and the Doctor.

McCoy pressed his lips together into a thin line, while he sat back on his haunches. This time, however, they were not pressed together in annoyance – he simply tried not to show his smile in front of Banta who gaped at his boss’ new purchases. Damn, but these two had balls.

“Well? What now?” McCoy asked into the ensuing silence over his shoulder. He enjoyed the baffled look on Banta’s face, but it was wiped away rather quickly, only to be replaced by an unholy, nasty gleam in his three eyes.

“If the ... Gentlemen... don’t want to cooperate, we can’t force them,” the Triptochid said at last with a voice that was too solemn for McCoy’s taste. He had witnessed enough of Banta to know that the bodyguard was everything – just not a calm, nice individual. McCoy’s mouth went dry and he turned his head in order to look at the two men sitting on the bed, still shivering and twitching from the ordeal of being captured inside a box for hours on end. They had no chance against a Triptochid. He was not entirely sure what the strength difference between a Vulcan and a Triptochid were, but shackled and exhausted as the guy looked at the moment, McCoy would not bet on him.

“I will have to consult with Mr. Vargaz. He’ll know what to do next,” Banta continued after a moment and McCoy felt a shudder of trepidation run down his spine. He licked his lips and looked imploringly at the two.

“Don’t you want to reconsider?”

They just stared at him. Banta took a step forward.

“Come, Doctor. You must be tired. I will lead you out of the house.”

McCoy stood slowly, but made no move towards the door.

“What will you do with them?” he demanded, his hands curled into fists.

“Mr. Vargaz and I will consult with each other. A solution will be found,” Banta answered calmly; he spoke as slow as if he was talking to a child – something he was spectacularly ill equipped for. He shoved his large hands behind his back and looked with two eyes at McCoy, while the upper third eye was still fixed on the two men on the bed with such ... hatred, that it made the Doctor sick to his stomach.

“But...”

“Doctor, you are no longer needed. Mr. Vargaz will forward the credits to your account as usual.”

“But - !”

“Go away, Bones. We don’t need anyone, you know?” piped the human suddenly up, throwing the Doctor a fierce glance. The Georgian man had to blink a few times, asking numbly, “Why did you call me Bones?”

The man shrugged his shoulders.

“The image of my bones being twisted like a pretzel was pretty awesome. Now go away.”

The Doctor stood in the middle of the room, feeling utterly helpless, while he looked at the two men on the bed that were quite obviously in shell-shock. He hated feeling helpless. He hated the thought of leaving these two at the mercy of Banta and Vargaz. He hated to be left in total darkness.

“At least tell me your names,” he whispered at last.

They exchanged another enigmatic, quick glance, before the Vulcan inclined his head and said, “I am Spock and he is James.”

“James Tiberius Kirk,” the human corrected, throwing his broad shoulders backwards with cockiness.

McCoy, however, saw it.

He saw it in their eyes.

He saw for the fraction of a second the utter desolation in the stubborn hazel eyes and the plain panic and confusion in the brown Vulcan eyes.

They were playing a desperate game, trying to make any sense out of the warped situation they had somehow stumbled into.

And when the Doctor turned around with the feeling as if a hot wire was burning through his guts, he saw it in Banta’s evil, twisted expression: The bodyguard knew that they were bluffing. And he would drive it out of them.


	3. Chapter 2: Can someone fall who is already down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Warnings: Mention and use of drugs; Angst; swearing.

The light was switched off and the door closed behind the broad back of the burly man. They could hear the Doctor frantically argue, while a soft clicking sound ensured them that they had been locked inside the little room.

The footsteps were slowly fading until even the Vulcan couldn’t hear the insistent drawl of the human anymore.

They were sitting for a few moments in total silence in the darkened room upon the edge of the bed, staring at the door and waiting – for what, they didn’t know themselves.

Spock slowly closed his eyes, when he felt a shiver go through his companion. It did not take long, until Jim was positively vibrating next to him and the Vulcan could count the exact seconds until he felt a broad, callused hand slip under his own hand. The palm of a cool, human hand pressed against the palm of a hot, Vulcan hand, while fingers – one set tanned golden and rather thick and the other set pale and slender – wove through each other and gripped forcefully.

“Where are we, Spock?” Jim whispered at last into the silence. His voice was nothing like the cocky, demanding growl from only moments prior. It was a silent whisper and the Vulcan had to close his eyes against it, even though he knew it wouldn’t help.

“I don’t know, Jim. It would seem, though, that we are no longer in K’troll’s mansion. To be exact – I don’t think that we are even on Mulkler anymore. The percentage of moisture in the air is different; the whole climate seems to be shifted. However, it does not seem to be perpetually cold. I saw a wide lawn out of the window. The vegetation needs a certain amount of sunlight and warmth to reach this state of maturity.”

Spock knew he was babbling. Of course he knew it. He abhorred babbling. But he also knew that his companion needed it; needed it in order to get distracted from all the frightening emotions that were coursing through him and that were battering against Spock’s mental shields now even more than during the whole ordeal in the box.

His arm started to tingle uncomfortably due to the constant stream of fear uncertainty anger confusion hope determination panic that was shooting up through the contact point of their hands.

“I shouldn’t have screamed at him,” Jim said after a few more moments of silence. Spock drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly and softly, so it couldn’t be really called a sigh.

As the Vulcan turned his head in order to look at the human at his side, the chains – his constant companions – were tinkling silently. They both didn’t really notice it anymore. The steel had been far too long with them for them to really perceive it.

Spock watched the profile of the young man. It was slightly down turned, staring at his knees that were clad in the scratchy garment. The wide hazel eyes spoke of the silent horror coursing through him.

“No you probably shouldn’t have screamed at him,” he conceded after a few more seconds of contemplation. Spock waited until Jim raised his head in order to looked at him, then he continued, “However, you would not be you, if you just stood aside and let them push us around.”

The human’s jaw clenched and his lips twisted grimly.

“We have to show them that they can’t do these things to us anymore, Spock. I have no clue as to what is happening, but we have to get as much advantage over them as possible. Maybe – “

“ – they will kick us out if we are obstinate enough and we can finally take our lives into our own hands,” the Vulcan finished and the left corner of his mouth twitched minutely, as Jim looked at him with surprise.

“Five years and you are still baffled over my insight while you clutch at me like that?” the Vulcan said with a low voice, nodding down towards their entwined hands. Jim let go off him, as if he was white hot iron and stood abruptly up.

“I’m not clutching at anyone,” he murmured, while he squeezed himself between box and bed and stepped restlessly towards the window. The Vulcan folded his hands serenely in his lap and stared straight ahead at the door.

“No, you are not, Jim,” he conceded quietly. He had spoken more than he usually did – for the sake of his constant companion – but he realized that he was no comfort for Jim at this moment.

The human was confused and agitated and his strong, youthful body was still protesting against the way they had been shoved inside the box.

Spock himself was – although he tried not to show it – not sure what was about to happen with them; and that was a frightening prospect indeed.

It had been only 26.457 hours prior that some of the servants in K’troll’s mansion had stormed into the little room he and Jim had been occupying. They had been informing them, that their master was dead and Spock had to admit, that the news had overwhelmed him in a way that was highly shameful.

He had just sat there, crouched in one corner of the room in order to give his hot headed companion as much space for himself as he needed, when the door had opened and four of the servants poured inside the room. His brain had frantically tried to cope with the new information that Master K’troll – his master for the last fifteen years – suddenly was no more. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise; K’troll had been old and ill, but... well. Spock knew nothing else.

So he had just been kneeling in the corner, baffled and confused over the sudden noise and the way the others had crowded into their room and...

“I have done nothing to save you, Jim. They have taken you and I have done nothing against it,” he said after a while. His voice was exceptionally calm and collected – at least he thought so. But the way Jim answered instantly showed him, that the human probably had pocked up on some of his distress.

“You’ve been caught unaware – just like me,” Jim said stubbornly from his place at the barred window. Spock said nothing. He was aware of Jim’s tendency to flat out refuse facts that he did not like.

‘He’ll never change. He is as stubborn as a rock; he thinks the world has to work the way he deigns it to be,’ the Vulcan thought and was a little amused that the resentment from days past didn’t even stir at that.

The Vulcan brought his hands up in order to massage his temples.

His brain was still assaulting him with the pictures of how the servants had wrestled Jim down and bound his hands with the coarse rope that was now lying on the floor at his feet like the shed skin of a snake.

‘Hold him down! If we can subdue him, his pet Vulcan can’t do a thing!’ one of them had said. Spock felt his stomach twist painfully at the reminder and he slowly stood from the bed.

His shackles were silently tinkling, while he forced his muscles into compliance.

 

Jim could hear Spock walking around behind him, but he refused to turn around. He was still contemplating the new predicament he and his companion found themselves in.

K’troll had been old and confused in the end. Spock and he had only been biding their time, waiting for the moment the old bastard dropped dead and set them free with his demise.

Never – never – had he thought that the other servants would stab them in their backs like they had done.

‘I should not have underestimated them. I should have known better. It went way too smooth these past months,’ the human thought and whispered a silent, heartfelt shit, while he leaned is forehead against the cool glass.

‘I have a duty in looking out after Spock. We have a deal; and I utterly failed.’

He slowly curled his hands into fists.

“Jim.”

The human whirled around at the inflection in Spock’s voice. It had taken him an unbelievably long time to detect any emotions at all in the dark baritone voice; but it had been worth it to teach himself the subtleties.

Now he felt his muscles tighten in answer to the finality Spock had been able to imply in this one syllable.

“What?” he asked, searching for his friend in the darkness on the other side of the room. Spock stepped out of the shadow that had swallowed him for a moment.

“Our... attachment to one another proofs to get in our way. Don’t you think we should try and... change it? It would greatly limit our... weak... spots...” Spock’s speech came to a standstill, when he saw the expression on Jim’s face. For a few precious seconds the handsome face of the younger man totally fell.

“What?” Jim whispered – again – finally, after he had wrestled his facial features back into submission.

The two stood silently across from each other – only separated by the narrow, but exquisitely made bed. Jim was flooded by the silver light streaming in from the window. The steel bars in front of it painted a strange pattern across his upright figure, while the other man stood partly hidden in the shadows – only his soulful dark eyes were clearly visible.

Two sets of lips tightened stubbornly and two sets of shoulders – one broad and muscular, the other slender – were thrown back.

“We have a deal, Spock. We watch each others backs. We help each other get out of this hellhole. We are going to be free and attend Starfleet – together,” Jim said grimly at last, after Spock flat out refused to give further explanation.

Spock stared calmly back.

“That is true. However, I think we had not anticipated our strong bond to one another,” Spock intoned and Jim’s eyebrows shot up, when he saw the uncertainty and – guilt? – in the soft eyes of his constant companion.

“What is it, Spock?” he asked, stepping closer. Spock’s eyes slid away. For a few seconds it did not seem as if the Vulcan was inclined to answer, but after an internal struggle that was painfully obvious for the human, Spock relented.

“They have known that I would not be able to fight if they were threatening you, Jim. We try protecting each other and have not realized that we ourselves are our own Achilles’ tendon,” the Vulcan said at last. Jim slowly drew his eyebrows together. He did not understand the last reference, but he got the gist of what Spock was trying to tell him.

“You are telling me that we are opening ourselves to being vulnerable by caring for one another the way we do?” he said, while slowly crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest. He felt inexplicably cold. His hazel eyes seemed dull and refused to let the dark gaze of Spock go. The corners of his mouth drew downwards and the youthful face got a hard edge that told of so many hardships that have already been overcome in his short life.

“So – what – you are just shutting it off? Just so?” He snapped his fingers to illustrate it and made another step towards Spock. “You can just stop feeling for someone? Feeling protective? Feeling friendship?” And when Spock didn’t answer immediately, he hissed, “Well, can you?!”

“Jim,” Spock positively moaned in agony and drew his shoulders up to his ears in a defensive gesture that slightly deflated the temperamental human, “I did not suggest it in order to cause you pain. Quite the opposite, in fact. I just – “

“What are you afraid off?” Jim interrupted him; his mellifluous voice was soft and sincere, but he and Spock both knew that he only used it in order to push the Vulcan’s buttons.

And despite Spock’s better knowledge, he visibly bristled and countered silent but insistently, “I am afraid of nothing.”

A short pause and then Jim’s solemnly spoken, “Of course.”

Silence reigned again and the young men avoided each others gaze, until they practically simultaneously raised their arms.

Spock’s chains rustled, when he clasped his hands solemnly together in front of his stomach and Jim hissed silently, while he gingerly rubbed at the rope burn around his wrists.

Their surprised gazes met across the room and Jim’s lips twisted into a wry smile, just as Spock’s eyes softened in answer.

The Vulcan made his way over towards the bed and gingerly sat down again.

“We’ll have to find out, if they have a library, Jim.”

The face of the other man lit up instantly and he walked towards the bed and his companion. That was what he wanted to hear: Plans being made; resolves being strengthened.

If they wanted to survive, they had to work together; as a team.

“We’ll have to find a new way to get out of here, Spock. And therefore we have to find out where and with whom we are,” the blonde man answered, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

The Vulcan made a thoughtful noise and started to lay down; he had to arrange himself carefully so his chains and the metal cuffs were not disturbing him. Only moments later, Jim joined him. They shifted unselfconsciously until they were fitted together nicely and the human leaned his head against one overly warm shoulder.

One or two minutes passed in which they both tried to sort through their jumbled thoughts.

“You did not really mean that; that we should stop caring for each other – didn’t you?” Jim said into the silence of the room.

“I did mean it,” Spock’s dark baritone answered and continued solemnly, after he felt the human body at his side stiffen, “However, I changed my mind.”

Jim grunted , while he shoved his muscular leg across Spock’s thighs in an effort to get more comfortable.

“What do you suppose they will do to us?” Spock whispered at last.

And there it was. The fear.

The fear that had caused them in the past half hour to desperately ignore their most immediate worry, was suddenly out in the open. Both bodies shivered in remembered humiliation and pain from the past.

Human and Vulcan turned towards one another; seeking solace in the only known companion they had. They were clutching frantically at the flimsy garments they wore. Their breath came in heavy, fast outbursts and mingled between them.

“I don’t know,” Jim croaked finally. He silenced a dry sob of desperation at Spock’s shoulder.

They both pretended not to hear it.

 

McCoy was sitting in his hovercar, driving at a speed that was not commendable in his current agitated state of mind. He was slightly hunched over, his eyes fixed on the street, without really seeing it. His thoughts were far away – still in the little room in Vargaz’ mansion, to be exact.

‘Damn. What are they going to do with them?’ he thought, chewing on his tongue and gripping the steering wheel tighter.

He had been ranting the whole way through the silent corridors, trying to pry any information he could out of Banta; however, it had been an exercise in futility. All that he had managed to wriggle out of the burly alien had been an angry grunt and a warning ‘Mind your own business, Doctor’.

Normally something like that only caused the Southerner to get stubborn and put his foot down on the subject. This time, though, he was not facing the simple threat of getting his teeth newly arranged. This time he was facing a threat against his daughter that still hung in the air and caused everything in him to painfully seize up.

How had Vargaz found out that Jocelyn was going back to earth in order to arrange everything for when they would get the divorce? They only had discussed it last week and he knew for a fact that Joce wanted to keep everything as private as possible.

In fact, they only had told it... Joanna. His little ten year old girl. What was that supposed to mean?

“Where did he get the information from, damn it?!” he hissed.

Leonard made a choked sound in the back of his throat and pried one hand off of the steering wheel in order to curl it into a fist and smash it down on the leather handle instead.

What the hell should he do? Just keep his nose out of everything? That would not do at all. He was way too compassionate to just turn his back on – what were their names? Ah yes – James and Spock.

He simply could not leave the two poor bastards – but, really, what could he do? The answer was as simple as it was aggravating: for now he could do absolutely nothing. He just had to cross his fingers and hope that Vargaz would somehow get them to comply peacefully and that he – McCoy – would be called back.

His foot pressed heavily down onto the accelerator and the car sped up even more.

He thought of a pair of hazel eyes and one pair of brown eyes. That last look they had been wearing upon their faces had burned itself deeply into the Doctor’s very being.

There had been pure, animal desperation in them. A desperation borne out of years of neglect. In his internship he had been working with a few victims from various backgrounds that could not have been more different, even if they had tried.

The expression on their faces, though, had been always the same: bleak desperation and the hopelessness of ever getting any help in escaping their own, personal hell, as well as a deep seated mistrust regarding everyone and everything.

“Slaves...” the Doctor whispered. He could not fathom what this word probably contained. The whole notion was so alien that he finally slowed the hovercar down in order to have more time to contemplate it.

It was horrible to think that in this day and age there were still slavers around; one of the drawbacks of poking their human noses into alien business, he presumed.

Nevertheless, Leonard never had really thought about what being a slave really meant.

He went at it with the practical mind of a physician and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, while he thought.

They did not have to get paid – just bought; so in the long run they were cheap workers.

But the work they had to do? Could be everything. They did not have any rights, after all.

‘They can be treated worse than animals,’ the man thought and his stomach twisted painfully.

He turned into the street he was living in with his soon-to-be-ex-wife and his daughter. He parked in front of the little, peaceful looking house and got slowly out.

“Unff!” he grunted and gripped the door of the car in order to stay upright; he looked wondrously down towards his legs that were shaking weakly. He had not even noticed how upset the whole encounter had left him.

“Get a grip on yourself, man. You want to get into Starfleet – you have to get a thicker skin than that,” he growled and seized his bag from the passenger seat, before he made his way slowly up the little path to his front door.

Before he went into the bedroom, however, he sneaked into the room of his daughter. He watched her sleep – there was not much to see, her brown hair just slightly poked out of the blanket.

McCoy shook his head slowly, when he turned around and he rubbed his cold hands together. How old had the two been, when they had been sold as slaves? About Joanna’s age?

A cold fist seemed to grip his intestines and he leaned heavily against the doorframe, catching the breath that all of a sudden seemed to elude him.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, boys...” he whispered into the darkness, his usually stern, craggy face uncharacteristically heartbroken.

 

When Banta entered Vargaz’ office without knocking, a cloud of the sweet, heavy smoke of Ruby hit him square in the face. The burly man inhaled deeply, while he stepped inside the dimly lit office and closed the door behind himself.

The boss was sitting leisurely in his chair, the crisp, white shirt under his jacket opened half way and his legs sprawled carelessly.

His head was tipped backwards and his eyes were closed – only the fact, that he blew a long puff of the smoke and brought the joint back to his lips indicated his state of wakefulness.

Banta slowly stepped up to the desk and looked down on Vargaz with all three eyes. He had to wait for five minutes, before the human slowly opened heavy eyes and threw him a short look, before he closed them again.

“So... what’s up?” Vargaz said. His voice was gravelly and he spoke way more leisurely than he would, if he wasn’t up to his ears with Ruby.

“They didn’t want to talk,” Banta replied solemnly. One eye was pried open with a visible struggle and fixed itself blearily on the bodyguard. Vargaz drew his dark eyebrows together.

“What?” he hissed. Banta shrugged his massive shoulders and had to be careful not to grin.

“They refused to be examined. Said we wouldn’t get any information, if they didn’t get any.”

Vargaz slightly turned his chair until he was facing his bodyguard properly and his drugged brain needed a few long moments, until it had processed the data.

“They refused? The slaves refused?” he said at last.

Banta tilted his bald head in affirmation. He felt the beginnings of what could only be described as primal lust pulse darkly through his veins.

“They did. Awfully cocky – the human, that is. They probably think they can try and play around with us,” he said.

Vargaz barked out a shrill laugh and shook his head slowly. He fell silent again and Banta waited until he had the feeling that his boss’ thoughts had drifted away. That sometimes happened nowadays, when the boss imbibed too much ruby.

After a while Banta got impatient and said, “So... what now?”

Vargaz blew out a breath and raised his empty hand in order to rub over the bridge of his nose.

“Hmmm... what now...” he repeated slowly.

Banta felt a prickle of excitement go down his spine and he seized the opportunity of Vargaz’ drugged state.

“I could show him his place, boss.”

“Hm? Who?”

“The human.”

The man opened his eyes abruptly and fixed the Triptochid with an eerily penetrating gaze. Banta made one step backwards and swallowed heavily. Vargaz obviously wasn’t as out of it as he had thought.

“You wanna play with him?” Vargaz said sharply. Banta shrugged his shoulders slightly and nodded.

The human’s eyes narrowed and he looked like he wanted to say ‘no’, but then a certain pensiveness entered his expression and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, staring at it.

“You said he was cocky, eh?” the man said slowly. Banta felt his hopes rise and nodded, until he realized that the boss would not be able to see it and said eagerly, “Yeah. Really cocky, the little bastard.”

Vargaz raised his arm and slowly rubbed across his naked chin – he had a very light beard growth.

“They have been a few hours in the box, haven’t they?” he mused aloud. It was clear, though, that he didn’t want any answer to that question, so the huge Triptochid remained silent.

One or two minutes passed, until he closed his eyes and murmured, “Okay. How about you visit them right now? You play with him and teach him a little... humility. It’ll be more fun if they don’t get time to rest.”

An unholy glee entered Banta’s face and he nodded eagerly, until he – yet again – realized that Vargaz could not see it.

“Yes, boss!” And added like an afterthought, “Thank you.”

He turned around and strode to the door, but was halted by a growled, “Banta!”

“Yes, boss?”

“Don’t break him. Just... prod at him, will ya?”

The Triptochid huffed slightly.

“Of course, Mr. Vargaz...” he murmured. Vargaz opened his eyes a little and scrutinized him, while he took another, long drag from his joint.

Smoke blew out of his mouth, when he said “Don’t make me regret my decision, Banta.” It made him look like the devil personified.

The burly man swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Vargaz.”

And with that, he was gone. The human contemplated the door for a few moments, then shrugged his shoulders and drew himself onto his feet with much difficulties.

 

Jim and Spock were almost sleeping, when the human slightly sighed and murmured, “I’m so thirsty. And hungry.”

The Vulcan hummed and added carefully, “I would like to use the facilities as well.”

Jim groaned in confirmation. Damn, he thought his bladder was about to burst.

However, they still lay there, pressed against each other on the narrow bed. Spock poked at him after a while, causing his chains to rattle, so they did not hear the silent clicking from the door.

“There is a door we have not scrutinized yet. Maybe it is a bathroom. Get up and investigate it,” the Vulcan murmured to the human, who shook his head.

“Too tired...” Jim yawned and Spock huffed – but didn’t get up either.

Nevertheless, Jim was just in the process of thinking that he probably should go and investigate it anyway, when something suddenly clamped around his right ankle and he was drawn out of the bed with a mighty pull.

“What the-aaaah!” he screamed, as his whole world whirled around him and all the air was pressed out of his lungs, when he made contact with solid ground.

“Jim?!” he heard Spock exclaim. The human instantly began flailing and struggling, although he still had no orientation. His arms and legs were seized very effectively in mere seconds, though, while he heard the frantic tinkling of chains that told of Spock scrambling up from bed in order to come to his rescue.

The surface he was lying on tilted heavily to one side and he heard a mighty thump that was followed by a crash.

“Spock!” he screamed, trying to get his bearings back and turning his head from side to side, while fighting against the restraints that were still clamping his arms and legs together.

“Keep still,” a voice rumbled. And he could feel the voice – in his stomach to be precise. Finally the human understood where he was lying: that burly ogre from before had him slung over his shoulders as if he were a mere ragdoll.

“What is the meaning of this? Let me down, you son of a bitch!” Jim screamed, struggling all the more against the thick muscled arms that had seized him. There was no answer; the huge three eyed man simply turned around to the door.

In this new position, Jim was able to see Spock. The Vulcan was lying on the other side of the narrow bed, holding his stomach with one arm and his head, that he must’ve rammed somewhere, with the other.

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed, his voice breaking. He felt a new surge of adrenalin rush through him. The Vulcan’s head snapped up at the frantic tone in his friends’ voice. Jim could see green blood run out of a gash on Spock’s forehead, but the Vulcan scrambled to get on his feet as fast as possible, leaping over the bed and trying to get to the door in time.

“Spock... Spock!!” Jim screamed again, when the man he was lying on turned to his side in order to get through the door without giving his burden a concussion. It seemed like the vocabulary of the human had been reduced to the name of his constant companion.

He was still struggling like mad, his wide hazel eyes fixed on the Vulcan, who looked deathly pale under the dripping, green blood.

It was the last thing he saw, before his captor shut the door with a bang right into Spock’s face. Jim could even hear the heavy impact with which Spock rammed against the thick wood, followed by the frantic banging of fists against it and the muffled sound of the Vulcan demanding, “Let him free!”

Jim watched with a sinking feeling as the man punched a code into the panel next to the door and a heavy steel panel slid out of the doorframe, securing the wood that would not be able to withstand the determined assault of a Vulcan.

Additionally, Spock’s screams and the pounding was drowned out, leaving them standing in utter silence in the hallway.

“We are going to play now... Jim,” his burly captor said with unmistakable glee, when he turned around and made his way down the corridor.

James T. Kirk did not know, what to say. Icy dread filled him and made his heart pound frantically in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap your seatbelts on... It's going to be rocky in the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 3: Do as you're told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Physical and psychological torture; mention of bodily fluids; Angst

Spock had his ear pressed against the cold surface of the wood but after the mechanical whirring and clicking from just moments prior, there was an eerie silence.

He felt his heart still flutter in his side with the adrenalin coursing through his body and he wiped absentmindedly at the vibrant green blood that was starting to drip into his left eye.

Spock’s mind was running at full speed despite the painful throbbing and churning of his stomach, where the three eyed man had kicked him viciously.

‘I need something to break the door open,’ he thought, while inspecting the hinges the door was resting in. He needed to crouch a little; the strain in his gut was too much when standing upright. His vision blurred from time to time, while he inspected the mechanics of the door and when he put his hand on the wood in order to steady himself, he noticed with detached curiosity that it was shaking.

It was surprisingly hard to keep focussed on his task; his mind wanted to stray to what was probably happening to his human friend.

‘These thoughts are not helpful. Not helpful at all,’ the Vulcan thought, while he abandoned his examination of the hinges – they were on the other side of the doorframe and he would not have any luck with them.

He contemplated the handle of the door for a few seconds, while still wiping at the fluid leaking from the wound in his head – after the man had kicked him, he had stumbled backwards over the narrow bed and injured himself on the sharp edge of the bedside table.

An idea was blooming in his head and he whirled around, scanning the room hectically. Upon not seeing anything that would help him in his endeavour, he made his way over towards the second door in the room – staggering in the process and clutching at his stomach that was gurgling with a vehemence that had little to do with the fact that Spock had not eaten in over 34.4 hours.

‘Jim has also not eaten anything... and he is human. Where have they brought him? Will they know how to take care of him?’

Spock blinked a few times and ground his teeth together after he realized that his thoughts had – once again – strayed from his task. He pushed energetically off from the wall he had been heavily leaning on and staggered towards the door, opening it with more force than was strictly necessary.

His breath rushed out of him in elation, when he realized, that this room was, indeed, a little bathroom.

The Vulcan fixed the metal bar from which the shower curtain was hanging and the left corner of his mouth curled slightly upwards.

Only moments later he exited the bath – the metal bar he had ripped out of the wall with all his might, gripped in his shaking fists.

By now he was heavily panting, his mouth perpetually opened so he could draw more breath into his lungs. He was aware of the fact that something was definitely wrong with him – the room was lazily spinning the whole time and his stomach caused him to hunch over and use the bar as a walking stick – but Jim was somewhere in this house – at least he hoped he was still here – and he had no frame of reference as to what these people were likely to do to him. With K’troll he would’ve known that Jim would get back – more or less – unharmed. But now? It could very well be that he had seen the last of his companion.

The thought made agony bloom in the deep recesses of his mind; that place where Jim had somehow nestled in between all those torn bonds that were plaguing the Vulcan constantly throughout his life.

He angrily pushed all the distracting aches and pains as far away as possible and shoved the metal bar under the handle of the door. In doing so, he could use it as a makeshift lever.

Spock breathed a few times deeply, broadened the stance of his feet and collected his formidable Vulcan strength one last time.

“Hnnggh!”

He pulled heavily on the metal bar. The flow of blood on his forehead began trickling anew and the Vulcan had to blink frantically in order to get it out of his eye.

His chains were rattling profusely and the metal collar around his neck was painfully digging into his flesh, as the tendons strained against his skin.

He pulled relentlessly, his stomach gurgling and seizing up so painfully that his knees were in danger of buckling. The Vulcan gritted his teeth; pictures of all the things that could be happening to James, popping up due to the weakening of his mental shields. The broken bonds in his mind were wailing and shooting additional spikes of agony through his being.

Spock almost thought that he would not be able to break the door; tendrils of panic were starting to lap at his insides, until – crack! – with a last, mighty effort the wood and metal gave way to the unrelenting assault of the Vulcan strength.

Spock staggered backwards when there was suddenly no counterweight anymore. He slowly sank to his knees, clutching at his midsection with both arms and moaning under his breath. He had to take a few gulps of air, while wiping his face on his upper arms – smearing the blood all over himself. However, when he looked up towards the door, his mouth fell – very uncharacteristically for the Vulcan – open in silent disbelief.

There was a metal slate blocking his way; and blocking him ultimately from Jim.

“Nooo...” he moaned and shoved his long fingers into his black hair, gripping the short strands tightly, while curling in on himself and whispering a few of the swear words Jim had taught him on one of those rare lazy afternoons.

 

“Let my down, already! I’m a grown man, I can walk myself!” Jim hissed, while he was struggling on the broad shoulders of the guy.

“I don’t like chasing down my prey. You are one of those who needs to be broken; and I think I will have plenty of fun doing so,” the man answered, while striding down the corridors as if he had no struggling man across his shoulders.

“You would not be the first to try,” the human spat angrily, still squirming and trying to wriggle free of the steel-like grasp of his captor.

The man grunted thoughtfully but said nothing.

A door was opened and Jim had to stop struggling as they started descending a staircase – he did not want to knock himself out on the narrow walls. That would not do at all in his current situation.

“What is going to happen to Spock?” he asked after a few moments of angry seething. He still had the picture of the bloody face of his friend in his mind and it made him nervous to think that the Vulcan could be injured and in need of help.

The man grunted again; it sounded amused.

“You should not worry about your little friend. I would be more concerned about what was happening to me, if I were in your shoes, my pretty, little treat.”

Jim’s mouth fell slightly open and he had the feeling that his body was not sure itself, if it wanted to blanch or profusely blush.

“Your pretty, little – damn you!” he spat and started wriggling again, when they arrived on the bottom of the stairs in a dimly lit darkness. Only with effort could Jim distinguish a long, featureless hallway that stretched to both sides and disappeared quickly into the dark.

It looked foreboding and ominous. The smell of moist, stale air and dirt made him nauseated. It reminded him of days long past that he only wanted to forget.

“At least tell me your name you psycho!” Jim demanded as fearlessly as possible. He hoped to god that this behemoth of an alien did not feel the frantic pounding of his heart through the thick material of his coat.

“Banta,” came the short reply. It sounded absentminded and Jim realized with a sinking feeling that his captor was counting the doors they were passing by.

‘What is he going to do?’ Jim thought, repressing a shiver as much as possible. He was stubborn in his determination not to show any of the rising panic. To show fear was to show weakness. And if he had learned anything during his twenty years of life, than that it was deadly to show weakness.

Banta rumbled something in a language that the human did not know, when he finally came to a halt and punched a code into the panel next to one of the doors that looked identical to the ones they had already passed. However, it sounded distinctly satisfied and made the little hair on Jim’s body stand up in repulsion.

They stepped inside darkness and the human had only time to realize that it was unduly warm in this new environment and that it smelled of leather and wood, before Banta let his burden unceremoniously down from his shoulders.

“Unff!”

The air was once again pressed out of Jim’s lungs, when he fell to the stony floor. He immediately got to his hands and knees and scrambled away as fast as possible. Pain shot through him, when he smashed his face against a hart surface in the darkness.

“OOwww...” he moaned, cupping his pounding nose with one hand, while he gingerly reached out with his other arm in order to feel what he had bumped into. While his trembling, calloused fingers felt a wooden leg – ‘A desk?’ – a humming sound was heard from above.

Banta had punched the light switch and the old glass lamps on the ceiling were flaring lazily to life. The Triptochid could’ve installed the much more commonly used artificial lights but he liked the atmosphere the flickering, orange lamps were giving his little... domain.

He closed the door lazily, while his three eyes were fixed upon his prey. The human was cowering nearly in the middle of the room.

One hand was absently at his face, where he obviously rammed against the stretch bank in front of him. The man didn’t seem concerned about the pain anymore, though. He was slowly sitting back on his haunches, his head in his neck, his other hand curled around the thick leg of the bank, while he slowly turned around, perusing the room.

Banta enjoyed this first moments of trepidation the most. The stubborn hazel eyes were getting bigger by the second, while they were taking in all his implements and toys; there were two cages hanging from the ceiling; a chair which was surrounded with barb wire; countless whips and paddles mounted at the walls and other large objects that were just out of the reach of the cone of light; sitting ominously in the corners of the room.

Banta could see the unguarded panic rising in the man – no, slave – and he licked his lips slowly. Just as the human seemed to get a grip back on himself, Banta strode towards him.

 

Jim scrambled to his feet and wanted to leap around the strange bank with its manacles in order to bring a hurdle between himself and the obviously deranged man, but his legs were weak from the hell that had started – he did not know when, but it seemed like forever since the servants had caught him and Spock and shoved them into that box.

Before he could make more than two steps, his neck was seized in the grip of one huge, fleshy hand and he felt himself getting pulled up from his legs and shoved onto the hard wood of the desk he had bumped into.

His breath came in fast, short bursts and his hands were scrabbling around, looking for a purchase that would allow him to get away from the grasping hands of the tall man. Absently he noticed how smooth and warm the wood felt under his hands. Did that mean this... thing was often in use?

‘I’m dreaming. I’m in a nightmare. I have to be,’ he thought frantically, while he drew his strong legs up and thrust them against the midsection of Banta.

The Triptochid’s eyes widened in surprise and he stumbled a little backwards. A trembling, triumphant grin spread across Jim’s face, while he seized the moment and made his way from the desk. Before he could orient himself in the strange room with all its ominous shadows, though, Banta was at him again and rammed into his back with a force that catapulted him forward into the darkness.

His tongue lolled out of his mouth, when his head impacted with something cold and metallic. His world was spinning around him and he only grunted weakly, when the heavy body of his captor fell into his back and pressed him against the metallic surface.

“So... still got fight in you, eh?” came the gravelly voice from behind. It sounded strange – all of a sudden in this room where they had not talked up until now.

Jim’s pounding brain tried to make any sense out of what had been said. His muscles were quivering and twitching and his hands were uselessly scrabbling on the surface of the metal, seeking for purchase.

“Aw... what happened? No cocky reply? What is it, pretty boy? Cat got your tongue?” Banta sneered.

Jim felt the heavy weight lift from his back and his upper arms were seized. He got turned around – his head lolling uselessly on his shoulders in the process. He desperately tried to get a grip on himself and keep his eyes open and focussed, but the pounding in his head and the trembling of his body made it very difficult indeed.

“Let go of me, you soulless freak,” he wanted to say, but what came out sounded more like, “Lmmmffk.”

Banta nearly howled with laughter, while stepping back and dragging Jim with him into the light.

The Triptochid surveyed the slave. He was pale under the tanned skin of his face and there was a dark area on his forehead where he had bumped against the metal of the iron maiden.

“You can’t endure much, eh? The boss said I should only prod at you... and now look at you. I haven’t even begun and you are already barely conscious,” the bodyguard taunted, eying the human and grinning with delight, when he saw a shadow of the stubbornness return in his gaze.

“Let me go...” Jim muttered and struggled weakly against the hard hands holding him. He was panting and had to swallow a few times, because everything was spinning and he had the feeling bile was rising in the back of his throat.

‘Spock...’ he thought dazedly and was slowly but surely so out of it, that he did not even struggle when the scratchy garments he was wearing, were stripped from his body.

Banta spoke while he was undressing the swaying human like a doll, “The boss said I should teach you a little humility. Show you what it means to disobey orders. And you know, you gave me a pretty good idea how to do that. And – aah but look at you. You are exquisite.”

Banta surveyed greedily the naked flesh he had revealed. Tanned, golden skin was stretched over taught muscles – a body shaped into perfection in its youthfulness and virility.

The Triptochid slowly let his hand wander across a smooth pectoral muscle, rubbing with his thumb over the soft skin. Knowing eyes were surveying every inch of the flesh, turning the human this way and that, utilizing the momentary daze of the slave.

He was just contemplating the naked, vulnerable genitals that were lying flaccid in their bed of golden curls, when he caught sight of something else.

A delighted, although slightly confused grin spread across his face, when he turned Jim slightly into the light in order to get a better look of the branding on the hipbone of the man. The scarred skin was in shape of a K.

‘Maybe he can endure more, after all... I just have to ask the boss to play with him again,’ the bodyguard thought, licking his lips and reaching behind the man.

 

Jim registered Banta reaching around him; he heard a clicking and grinding behind him, before hard hands were turning him around and he was pulled back against the broad chest of the Triptochid, who curled one arm around his shoulders in a parody of tenderness.

“Here. You chose her. And she’ll be perfect to teach you not to... step out of bounds,” the man murmured into the human’s ear.

Bleary eyes focussed on the sight before him, while he almost instinctively struggled against the hold of his captor.

Banta waited patiently until the information of what he was seeing, truly sunk into the human. He knew the exact moment when this happened – the man seemed to seize up in his grasp and barely even breathed.

Jim felt a trembling starting in his knees that slowly made its way through his body. He was no coward; in fact he was a stubborn and tenacious bastard. At the sight before him, though, these qualities seemed to flee him for a moment.

“What is that?!” he croaked at last – at least he hoped his tongue was forming words, because he couldn’t feel his face any longer. Everything seemed to go numb.

“It’s an iron maiden. Did you never hear of them? They come from earth, you know... You guys were pretty... inventive in your early years,” Banta positively purred into the human ear and could not resist the temptation any longer; he curled an overly long tongue out and licked slowly across the vulnerable flesh of the exposed ear.

Jim jerked mightily at the contact and rammed the back of his head with force against Banta’s cheekbone, causing the heavy man to raise his head with a low, painful moan.

“I’m not going in that thing!” Jim choked and forced his protesting body to more struggling. His eyes were wide and panic stricken; he simply could not avert them from the metallic monstrosity in front of him.

The human shaped vessel had been opened by Banta and the two doors were opened wide, showing the insides that were studded with sharp thorns out of steel. It was a nightmare.

“Oh you are going in there. Especially after that little stunt,” Banta spat, while rubbing his cheekbone with one hand. He began to wrestle the resisting human towards the contraption.

“No! No I’m not going in there, you freak! Leave me alone! Damn you!” Jim was screaming, while he struggled and squirmed. He dug his heels into the ground, but the only thing he accomplished with that was a painful scraping of his skin on the rough stones on the floor.

“Cease your struggling. You will only hurt yourself unnecessarily. Jim.”

“Don’t call me that, you bastard! I don’t – I – I – NO! GOD DAMN IT!” the human screamed. Banta had wrestled him towards the iron contraption and turned the man around. His three eyes were fixed on the panicking man and a nasty smile slowly crawled over his face.

“Next time you’ll think twice before you get cocky, eh?” he whispered and brought his hand up towards Jim’s face, stroking over one cheek.

“You are beautiful. It would not do to have to destroy you because of your impertinence,” the bodyguard mumbled, stroking over Jim’s lower lip.

A dark, hateful expression entered the face of the human and his weakened body seemed to positively vibrate in his rage of being touched by the Triptochid.

“You disgust me,” Jim growled.

Banta did not even flinch, when the man spat him right into the face. He just snorted in amusement and shoved at Jim’s shoulders. The man stumbled backwards and he had only time to register prickling pain in his back, where he made contact with the spikes, before the two heavy doors were shut in front of him.

“NO!” he screamed horrified, but his attempt to raise his arms was met with more pain when they scraped against the pointed metal.

He was in total darkness. Only Banta’s low, evil chuckle was to be heard.

Jim could not keep a whimper of fear from escaping his throat.

 

Spock lay curled in on himself on the floor. His breathing was slow and deep and one could almost think he was asleep, if his eyes hadn’t been half opened and looking at nothing in particular. The pain in his stomach had receded after he had calmed down sufficiently enough to guide his body into the needed mental state that would fasten any healing progress.

‘I have to be calmer in the face of distress,’ he thought, taking another deep breath and staring at the door that was hanging loosely inside the room. Bits of the broken door and handle were lying on the carpet and the Vulcan hadn’t looked into the bathroom again but he knew for a fact that there were large, jagged holes where he had pulled the metal bar forcefully out of the wall and little pieces of the tiles were strewn over the floor.

Spock closed his eyes and concentrated on his slow, even breathing; he allowed himself to glide further into a trance and very carefully and gingerly searched for all the broken and loose bonds that were nestled deep in his psyche. He seldom went there. It was a very disconcerting place; he did not recognise any of the bonds that were desperately trying to gain a hold in his subconscious.

Dimly a line from many years ago floated through his head, ‘He does remember next to nothing. You’ll be able to form him in any way you want. So – two thousand credits? He’s a Vulcan, after all.’

Spock did not notice how his physical body blew a forceful breath out. He shied away from all the memories that were threatening to take over after this unfortunate thought and dived deeper into his mind.

He looked over the bleak, dark landscape of all those bonds that sought out to him and ground his teeth together, while he was searching for a very special one.

A dim, fragile light in the darkness alerted him to something new and Spock slowly made his way towards it.

The bond was tender and so very small, but he would recognise the hazel colour everywhere.

“Jim...” he whispered and kneeled down, staring upon a young sprout that seemed to have taken root in his mental soil.

He stretched out to it and tentatively touched it with his mind. He wanted to see if he could somehow... contact Jim. Or at the very least discern where he was and if everything was all right.

The answer came much swifter and clearer than he would’ve thought possible from such a fragile, little thing. Spock recoiled and his eyes snapped open with a gasp, when he felt the deep horror that was emanating from the bond.

Shaken out of his trance, Spock forced himself into a sitting position. The heart in his side clenched painfully.

Jim was in deep trouble.

 

In the beginning he was demanding to be let out; he was screaming and threatening and swearing up a storm, while he kept his eyes tightly closed out of fear he would move a little too far with his head and puncture them with the spikes. He could not move very much in this hellhole.

He could hear Banta outside. There were footsteps every now and again and deep breathing – but the guy was not talking to him. Jim could insult him as profusely as he wanted; there was no reaction.

 

When his legs started to tremble and his muscles started to twitch with the effort of standing so still after he had been enclosed hours upon hours inside the box, his voice cracked. He went hoarse and the threats started coming less and less. There were more questions asked.

“Where is Spock?”

“Where are we?”

“Why do you want us?”

“Is Spock all right?”

“...When do you open that damned thing?”

No answers were given. He could hear the heavy breathing as if Banta was standing directly on the other side of his prison.

 

His head fell slightly forward and he pricked his forehead on the spikes. He jerked backwards and they rammed into the back of his head. Tears prickled in his eyes and he wanted to raise his arm and rub at them, but once more the metal restrained any movement.

Jim swayed on his feet and a strangled sob escaped his throat when the threatening pointed objects prodded him everywhere.

“How long have I been in here? Please let me out... I’m so thirsty. And hungry.”

He licked over his lips and swallowed convulsively.

No answer came. There wasn’t even breathing this time.

 

Jim started hyperventilating. He had no clue how much time had elapsed. There was no frame of reference in this dark hell he was standing in. Blood was trickling down from various little wounds. It was itching on his skin and he twitched more and more. When he breathed too heavily, his chest scraped on the nails.

His bladder was heavy and screaming for release.

When he spoke, it was a dry rasp, “Let me out... My god, please. I’m so thirsty. I can’t stand anymore. Please...”

And after no answer came he nearly sobbed, “I have to go to the toilet. Please let me out.”

A sharply indrawn breath was all the answer he got.

 

The human was sobbing, when he lost the fight with his aching bladder. The fluid ran hot and liquid down his thighs, pooling at his feet. It reminded him of how thirsty he was. He was so tired that even the acrid smell couldn’t make him gag anymore.

He felt violated and like the lowest of life forms.

 

Jim couldn’t tell anymore, if he was sobbing or laughing. His forehead was leaning against the spikes and he was slowly but surely sagging against them. He simply could not stand any longer. His whole body itched from the drying or trickling liquids.

His voice was high and whimpering, while he begged, “Let me out. Let me go to Spock. Please, please let me out.”

 

In the end, he didn’t say anything anymore.

 

Spock was kneeling next to the little sprout. The fear and agony pulsing from it was vibrating through his whole being, until even his teeth hurt. He curled his hands around it and blew warm breath upon the fragile thing.

“Don’t give up, Jim. I’m with you. Don’t give up.”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

Banta had been there the first four hours. Then he had left the human alone in order to do his job supervising the workers on Mr. Vargaz’ estate.

When he came back, the human had been in the iron maiden for nearly six hours.

Banta opened the doors of the contraption wide and the human fell gracelessly to the floor. The stench of blood and urine wafted out of the metal chamber and the human fell into a heap on the floor. He was writhing and sobbing and clutching at his whole body in a frenzied rage.

Banta grinned lustful and inhaled deeply, turning the slave around with a nudge of his boot.

“Well? Learned your lesson?” he asked gruffly.

The human was not looking at him, although the hazel eyes were opened wide.

He was babbling, “I won’t give up, Spock. I won’t.”

He scratched at all the little wounds in his body and Banta shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He went over towards the panel beside the door and punched a few buttons.

“What is it?” came Mr. Vargaz’ annoyed voice. Banta cleared his throat.

“You should call the Doctor, boss.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, while Vargaz remembered the things that had happened last night during his drug induced haze. He had completely forgotten that he had given Banta permission to play with the human and that there was a Vulcan waiting in one of the servants’ rooms; otherwise he would’ve taken care of it sooner and not perused the documents he was currently working on.

A veine started pulsing on his forehead and he growled, “God damn you, Banta. You’ll be sorry if he dies.”


	5. Chapter 4: Let me take you back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warnings: Swearing

McCoy was listening to Joanna’s singing, while they were walking to her school. He hummed with her under his breath, though she had not allowed him to sing louder because McCoy had, quite frankly, no single musical bone in his body.

They both wore light coats in the still fresh morning air, although the sun would be heating the place up soon and make them totally obsolete. The brown haired girl was gripping her fathers hand and swinging it back and forth, while she eyed all the little things on the sidewalk. McCoy was carrying her backpack over one shoulder – he had stopped feeling ridiculous with the pink bag about three months ago.

It was way too early for the grumpy man to feel embarrassed, anyway. He hadn’t been sleeping well; in fact, he had only slept about one or two hours. Mostly he had lain in bed next to Jocelyn, his arms behind his head and staring up to the ceiling in contemplation. His thoughts had been circling relentlessly around what was potentially happening in Antonio Vargaz’ mansion at that moment.

Even now it made him feel queasy. McCoy had heard rumours about the things they got up to in the peaceful looking estate – and preferred not to listen too closely. They were too ludicrous to be true, anyway.

He hoped.

The rumours went from Banta having some crazy torture lab, where he sometimes had sessions with willing victims to him dragging workers down there and bloodily murdering them in order to satisfy his crazy sex drive. And while McCoy was eerily sure that the Triptochid was more than capable of something as gruesome as satisfying his sadistic tendencies with necrophilia, he also knew at the same time that Vargaz would not allow this manner of unprofessionalism.

The man would probably just shrug his shoulders, if it could not potentially fall back onto him, but even Antonio Vargaz had to answer to the authorities when workers went missing. And he had to be even more careful with Takero Tikata on the other side of the planet; the two were just dying to drive the other one out of the game.

And really, what would be more effective than getting the rival into jail?

The other rumour, however – the one concerning Vargaz – now that one he could believe without having seen it. He knew enough of the man to know how crazy he was about the Ruby – although McCoy had not been able to discern why just yet; Vargaz seemed way too smart to willingly poke holes into his brain via the substance – and he already had thought about the possibility of the man having parties with potential business partners, where the stuff was traded in vast amounts while they made their ominous deals.

But where did all of that leave these two unfortunate men he had had the dubious pleasure of meeting last night?

Somewhere in devil’s kitchen, that’s where.

McCoy chewed on his tongue and only narrowly missed a trashcan, while he walked like a zombie with his little girl on his side.

His little girl that was jolted him out of his musings by suddenly interrupting her singing and asking with a clear voice, “You’ll be visiting me, when I’m on earth with Mummy. Won’t you, Daddy?”

McCoy jerked slightly and turned his head, staring blearily down towards Joanna, who was looking guilelessly up at him. She was no extraordinary looking girl. Brown hair, brown eyes and – to McCoy’s silent wonder – the mouth of her father with his dark coloured lips.

To her father, though, she was the prettiest girl in the world.

His lips stretched into an honest smile that was seldom seen on the face of the grouchy Doctor and he snorted slightly, “You can bet your next milk tooth that I’ll be visiting you. And I’ll call you as often as possible, darlin’. You won’t even notice, that I’m not there.”

She hummed slightly and squeezed his hand tighter.

“We’ll be having fun, while Mummy is on earth, won’t we?” she said. She stared at the ground, while they were walking. The Doctor heard the trembling in her voice and felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively.

“Of course, darlin’. It’s going to be the best six months you can imagine,” he croaked. She did not answer him, but the grip of her hand on his had become unnaturally tight.

McCoy just wanted to ask her what was going on in her mind, when the communicator in his watch began to chime. He sighed and flipped it awkwardly open with his chin – he did not want to release his hold on Joanna’s hand at the moment.

“McCoy here,” he snapped unnecessarily harsh into the device.

“Doctor – I take it you had a good night’s sleep and a satisfactory start of your day?”

All the little hair on the back of McCoy’s neck stood on end, when he heard the voice of the man he wanted to hear least right now: Antonio Vargaz.

“What do you want? I’m busy.”

“But your shift doesn’t begin until 1300, Doctor,” came the slightly confused reply. It sounded insincere. McCoy felt his stomach twist painfully.

“How do you know...” he started to hiss, until he noticed Joanna looking up at him in wonder, due to the angry tone in his voice. He swallowed convulsively and forced himself to remain calm. “Never mind. What do you want?”

“Banta had a little unfortunate accident while working with one of my newly acquired assets. I was wondering if you could spare a bit of your time and investigate the damage done?”

It was spoken with an air of negligence that did not manage to hide the veiled demand. McCoy felt his insides freeze all over and he abruptly came to a halt, so that the backpack of Joanna got jolted from his shoulder and hung in the crook of his elbow.

“Are you speaking of Jim and Spock?”

“Huh... are that their names? Interesting...”

“Vargaz!”

There was a pause and McCoy had the distinct feeling that the amusement the other man had been fostering up until now had been snuffed out.

“You better watch your tone, Doctor.”

Vargaz’ voice crawled out of the communication device like a poisonous fog. McCoy bit the tip of his tongue, while he let himself be dragged into motion once more by Joanna (“Come on, Daddy! We’ll be too late for school and Mrs. Dipple will scold me again. But I have my homework done this time.”).

The two men didn’t talk to each other for a few moments. Vargaz was probably waiting for McCoy to apologize until he realized that the stubborn Georgian Doctor would do no such thing.

His voice sounded clipped when it came out of the communicator.

“Can you come or not, Doctor McCoy?!”

McCoy sighed deeply and threw a sideway glance to his daughter.

“I’m busy at the moment. I will be with you as soon as possible.”

“Excellent.”

McCoy had the feeling Vargaz was about to cut the line and hastily blurted, “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I have not gone to investigate – I just had breakfast and want to keep it down. Banta said he was a little distressed and had a few minor wounds.”

Leonard closed his eyes. His throat worked uselessly for a few moments, until he croaked, “Which of the two?”

“The human.”

“I’ll hurry.”

 

Vargaz sat at his desk, contemplating the documents strewn across it and playing with a pencil in his grasp.

His mind was not on the contracts that needed his perusing, but on the two new additions to his estate. He only had bought them yesterday and already they were causing trouble. What had K’troll taught them?

‘Obviously not how a slave should behave,’ he thought angrily and threw his pencil down, while standing up. He seized the phaser out of the upper drawer of his desk and was already half across the room, before another thought occurred to him and he turned around to his work place once more. He had to stretch in order to reach his communications device that was situated in one corner of his desk. He pressed a button.

“Banta.”

“Yes, boss?”

“What’s going on down there?”

“Not much. I wanted to pick him up but he squirreled his way under one of my ... ah... desks. He’s spitting and hissing like an angry cat. Don’t know what to do about it, to be honest...”

“God do I have to do everything...” Vargaz started to moan, but interrupted himself harshly, “Banta, you idiot! Seize him – I don’t care how – and bring him up to his room. I want those two together so I don’t have to say it twice.”

“’It’, sir?”

“How this is going to work. I won’t get myself outsmarted by a pair of dumb, stubborn slaves. They are going to learn their place and they will have to accept it. I don’t have time for such foolishness.”

Banta sounded uneasy when he said, “Yes, Mr. Vargaz.”

Vargaz shut the connection and turned around, storming out of his office and through the large, exquisitely decorated building.

 

Vargaz punched in the security code that would cause the metal door, that was actually a security measure if there was ever a fire, to slide back. His eyebrows snapped together, when behind the metal was second barrier as he had expected.

He raised the phaser automatically, while he surveyed the damaged room with a certain kind of fascination.

The door hung crooked on its hinges, the narrow bed had been shoved through the room and the bedspread was quite ruffled. The floor was littered with bits and pieces of wood and dust and – was that a metal bar lying on the side? It looked forcibly curved and Vargaz was wondering where it had come from until his gaze focussed on the half-open door of the bathroom and his mind provided him with the additional information.

A metallic tinkling caused him to raise the phaser up to shoulder height and turn around quickly. The Vulcan was standing at the barred window on the other side of the room. He was holding a crooked piece of metal that might have been the door handle in his hand and tried to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Antonio Vargaz was many things – but stupid was none of them.

He saw the glittering splinters of the glass strewn around the floor at the naked feet of the Vulcan and he saw the jagged hole in the window.

The green blood oozing from little cuts in the Vulcan’s hand was also something that was not to be overlooked lightly.

“Let go of that thing,” Vargaz demanded calmly, jerking with his phaser towards the sharp metal in the Vulcan’s hand. The man immediately opened his fingers and the metal fell to the ground where its impact was absorbed by the soft carpet.

The two were eying each other across the room. The Vulcan slowly clasped his hands together in front of his stomach, looking so utterly calm and collected, while standing in midst of the carnage and with blood dripping from various wounds that it struck Vargaz as unbelievably hilarious.

He snorted and lowered the phaser – a little.

“Where is Jim?”

The voice was surprisingly deep and sounded clipped and cultivated – totally ad odds with what Vargaz had imagined a slave to be. The human found himself opening his mouth and almost obeying the inherent authority of the low voice and telling him, that his companion would be here soon, when he realized what he was doing and smoothly covered his lapse by grinning condescendingly and stepping inside the wrecked room.

“That’s none of your business. Spock, is it?” he asked, surveying the slender, tall Vulcan. Vargaz had to admit: he looked unbelievably exotic; especially in this part of the galaxy.

The alien slowly nodded and only because Vargaz had been eying him intently did he notice the tightening of the grip the hands had on each other just before the Vulcan intoned demandingly, “What is your name? Where are we?”

The dark, muddy brown eyes of the human narrowed minutely. There was something distinctly... odd in the attitude of the Vulcan. However, he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet.

“My name has no importance. I am your master and you will address me as such,” he spoke with a sneer on his face. He saw Spock swallow convulsively against the restraining metal of the collar.

‘The chains... the auctioneer said they could be shortened.’

His brain was working at full speed. Other fragments of the conversation from yesterday were suddenly pooling through his brain.

‘There is a substance one could use in order to render him helpless.’

‘They are not to be separated.’

‘The Vulcan is docile as long as the human is around.’

‘You will have far more trouble with the human, if you separate him from the Vulcan.’

Vargaz blinked a few times. His mind was reeling, while he held the phaser steadily pointed at the head of the alien. He observed the Vulcan, who was standing there as placid as a Buddha while the pale skin of his face was crusted with his emerald blood.

And though he was standing perfectly still there was an air of restlessness about him, that had nothing to do with the weapon that was currently pointed straight at him.

Vargaz’ eyes widened slightly, when everything seemed to click into place.

The auctioneer had already said it – the information had been there all along.

‘Can it be so easy?’ Vargaz thought, while staring directly into expressionless, unfathomable eyes. If the alien had not been in chains and if Vargaz did not have a phaser in his hand, he would’ve been scared shitless from the emotionless creature. He had heard Vulcan’s were pacifists, but one needed only to look around the room in order to realize, that obviously no one had told this information this particular specimen.

‘He is different. There is something not quite right about him. Maybe it really is so easy,’ the man pondered and as if to encourage his line of thought the Vulcan now stepped a little closer – through the fragments of glass on the floor – and asked again, “Where is Jim? Is he all right?”

Vargaz just went with his guts.

“You have forgotten something, slave. If you keep insulting me, Jim will have a hard time.”

A minute blanching of the face under the crusted blood was the answer. Vargaz felt a powerful prickling going through his very being and he murmured slowly, savouring each syllable, “Address me correctly and maybe I’ll let you know where your companion is.”

Dark eyes were regarding him steadily and the head tilted to one side in a fashion that made it seem almost inquisitive. As if the Vulcan did not know what he wanted from him.

Vargaz watched on in amazement, as the alien slowly unclasped his hands and let his arms fall down to his side. Spock’s hands were slowly curling into fists, before relaxing and curling again.

‘What is up with the guy? What kind of Vulcan is he?’ Vargaz thought and felt a delicious tightening in his stomach, when the slave seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, because he slowly bowed his upper body and the dark, cultivated voice pronounced smoothly, “Were is Jim, Master?”

And damn, didn’t that sound all too perfect?

Suddenly Vargaz had an idea as to why Tikata had purchased those two. That kinky bastard.

‘I’m never going to let him live that down,’ Vargaz thought with boyish glee, while he tried to ignore the goosebumps that had sprung up all over his body in the face of the physically clearly stronger alien submitting to him.

“What a good boy. You do have manners, after all,” Vargaz sneered. He saw the stiffening of the shoulders and his lips curled into a nasty grin.

Just on cue he could hear footsteps behind him coming down the hallway and he stepped aside, while still fixing the alien.

“And because you were such a good boy, you’ll get a treat. There’s your precious Jim,” he said, putting unnecessary emphasize on the name.

His grin slightly vanished, though, when he saw the solemn face of the slave fall, the dark eyes fixed with an expression that could be nearly called horrified at the newcomers that were just entering the room.

In response Vargaz turned his head after all in order to look for what was causing the Vulcan’s distress.

Banta had slung the human carelessly over one shoulder, pinning the feebly struggling form with one arm. Over the slave’s head he had slung a dark fabric – underneath could be heard muffled screaming. His arms were bound additionally behind his back. The man was naked and bleeding from countless puncture wounds all over his body and –

“Ugh, what is that stench?!” Vargaz gagged, raising his arm and pressing his sleeve against his nose.

“Pissed himself, the little bastard,” Banta grunted. His left eye was slowly swelling shut and the two other eyes were looking murderously.

The slave must’ve put up one hell of a fight.

“Get him on the bed and – damn it all, what now?!”

The last thing Vargaz had spat into the communication unit at his wrist. While he listened to the voice of one of the maids telling him that the Doctor had arrived, he watched the burly bodyguard let the human fall gracelessly onto the bed.

“Get him to the servants’ quarters,” Vargaz said sharply into the communicator. He never took his eyes from the human that was writhing on the bed like a man possessed.

‘That guy is one stubborn son of a bitch. How did K’troll control him?!’ Vargaz thought, watching as the Vulcan rushed from his standing point at the window towards the bed and the struggling man.

“Jim,” he seemed to whisper – Vargaz was not so sure, he couldn’t hear it – and touched the man on the shoulder. He went rigid for a few heart stopping moments, before falling back boneless against the bed.

His broad chest was heaving and the strong legs with the thick muscles were shivering profusely.

Vargaz watched as the Vulcan pulled the fabric from the head of the other slave and pried the gag out of his mouth.

The human immediately let his jaws fall open so he could draw deep, heaving gasps – he said no word, though. His face was drenched in sweat and the extraordinary hazel eyes, which Vargaz had already seen yesterday, were wide and madly rolling in their sockets.

When they fell upon Banta, however, the man jerked mightily, trying and failing to scramble away from the Triptochid, while his face held such utter hatred and contempt that it sent a cold shiver down even Vargaz’ spine.

Spock was clutching at the shoulders of his companion trying to prevent him from falling from the bed in his struggle to bring as much distance between himself and Banta as possible.

“Get out. Both of you.”

A new voice interrupted the heavy silence that had settled over the room in which both parties were eying one another mistrustful and stubbornly. Vargaz’ eyebrows shot up and he could only turn a little to the side, before the Doctor rushed into the room. The Georgian man shoved roughly past Banta, ignoring the murderous glance from the Triptochid totally.

He hissed, “Get out of here you idiot! Don’t you see that you’re causing him even more distress?!”

Banta’s lips drew back from his teeth and he scowled ferociously.

“As well he should! Just wait until I get my hands back on him and – “

“Banta!” Vargaz interrupted, while he slowly put the phaser away – the Vulcan seemed to be no threat at the moment. He was leaning over his companion and trying to loose the rope that bound his wrists, while the man seemed unable to make his mind up if he wanted to shy away from Banta or bash his head in.

The Triptochid turned said head towards his boss and Vargaz only needed to nod towards the door in order to get the burly man to reluctantly take a leave.

Vargaz followed him with a spring in his step, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll leave the rest to you, Doctor. Call me when you’re finished!”

McCoy looked up from his cowering position next to the bed, where he was rummaging in his bag and threw a confused backwards glance to the door.

“What do you mean, ‘call you when I’m –‘ hey! HEY! Leave that open!” the Doctor exclaimed alarmed, when he saw Vargaz twiddling with the panel outside.

Vargaz grinned lazily, watching in amusement as McCoy scrambled hastily to his feet and made a run for the door.

However, the metal divider was faster and shut right into the distressed face of the man. Vargaz chuckled silently, especially after he heard the vicious pounding on the other side of the metal.

“Aah the good Doctor. Always up for some fun.”

Vargaz turned around, rubbing his hands together in excitement; he caught sight of Banta, who stood a little off to the side with an expression on his face that was clearly transmitting his troubled thoughts about getting chewed out by his boss now.

When the Triptochid saw the mirthful mood Vargaz was in, however, his face with the swollen eye grimaced almost comically in confusion.

Vargaz snorted and clapped his hand on Banta’s upper arm.

“Come. I want to discuss something with you. I think I found the key towards their obedience,” the human intoned.

He still felt the delicious curling in his stomach from witnessing the physically stronger alien submit. He was already contemplating how it would be to have not only one but both of these damnably stubborn men at his beck and call.

It would be glorious.

 

McCoy pounded against the metal door until his hands were throbbing painfully. He could not believe that Vargaz had imprisoned him; and with two potentially dangerous men, no less!

He felt pity for them, yes, but that did not mean that he did underestimate them.

As if to back up his suspicion, McCoy could hear behind him a half sobbed, half growled, “I’m going to kill him, Spock.”

For a few panic stricken seconds, McCoy thought they were talking about him. Ice cold dread slithered down his spine and he whirled around, pressing his back against the metal that was cutting off his only escape route.

What he saw, however, were not two men, reduced to wild animals, crouching down and preparing to pounce on him, but two friends that were trying to somehow comfort one another.

Jim was clinging to Spock’s shoulders, his eyes fixed upon the solemn face of his companion, a fierce light shining from them, while the Vulcan had slung steadying arms around him.

“No, Jim. You won’t,” came the grave, low reply. One slender hand was raised and placed upon sweaty, dark blonde hair in a gesture that was somewhere between a caress and condescension. McCoy felt like an intruder upon witnessing the human’s face starting to crumble.

“I won’t? I won’t?! Do you know what he did to me? Have you any idea, what I went through the last hours, Spock?” he positively screeched. His fingers were tightening on the shoulders of the Vulcan until McCoy winced from only watching it. That grip must hurt – the Vulcan did not even move a muscle, though.

Spock silently stared at the raving man in his arms, shaking his head in solemn negation upon Jim’s questions as if the human had really wanted an answer.

“He put me in some metal... coffin, Spock! There were spikes! So many spikes! And I had to stand still the whole time, because with every movement I made they scraped at my skin and – “

A growl that sounded like it was ripped from deep within the human, crawled out of his throat and he pried one of his hands off of Spock’s shoulder, curling it into a fist and starting to pound viciously against the chest of his companion.

“Do you have any idea what that was like, you fucking, emotionless freak? You tell me I won’t kill him?! You just watch me, I’ll rip his fucking heart out and – oh god... Spock...”

Thick, calloused fingers curled themselves tightly into the linen shirt of the Vulcan who took everything with a stoic face of calm collection and the sweaty forehead of the man sunk weakly down against one slender shoulder.

“I was so afraid. I didn’t know how long I had to stand there. I thought my legs would give away and I’ll poke my eye out. I could never attend Starfleet as a blind man, Spock. I was... I had no control over myself. Do you have any idea how close to the breaking point that brought me?” Jim whispered dejectedly.

McCoy felt uneasy. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and chewed on his tongue while he witnessed the total breakdown of the man that had only roughly ten hours prior been so damnably cocky in face of this twisted situation that he had even impressed McCoy.

However, one part of his speech in particular caught the Doctor’s attention. He watched with renewed interest.

‘Starfleet? Did he just say Starfleet?’

McCoy watched as the Vulcan blew out a breath that was not quite a sigh and brought the hand that had been also not quite caressing the sweaty locks of his companion one more time to his head and gripped the hair in order to draw Jim’s head back.

The dark brown eyes were searching the tormented face that didn’t seem to know if it should show fierce determination or utter dejection. McCoy’s eyebrows rose, when Spock slightly shook the head of the other man with the fist he had imbedded in the thick hair until the hazel eyes focussed upon the solemn, pale, blood crusted – ‘Did he also get his arse handed to him?’ – face of the Vulcan, who, after he had made sure that Jim was listening, said gravely, “Yes; I do know how close it brought you, Jim. And that won’t do – that won’t do at all. You want to be the Captain of a Starship some day?”

A weak nod from the human was his answer; hazel eyes were fixed on the stern face.

“Then you got to hang in there and don’t loose your mind. And you won’t eliminate this man because the Academy will not take a man that has committed murder. Do you understand me, Jim? I won’t let you do that. Not when we’re almost at our goal.”

Pale pink lips were tightening into a stern line and the human brought his face closer towards Spock’s face.

McCoy felt his mouth go dry and he stepped involuntarily closer. He had heard right. They were talking about Starfleet. And the Academy.

‘What the hell...?’ he thought, while he pricked his ears in order to hear Jim’s reply.

“Are we almost at our goal, Spock? Are we?”

It was spoken with a high, almost childlike voice, although the face was still stern and intense. Spock’s dark eyes took in his companion. He did not flinch back from the proximity, which was a little odd for McCoy – Vulcans were universally known for their dislike of physical contact.

But when he thought about it – Spock had been initiating most of the contact right now. Very curious.

“Yes, we are,” the baritone voice intoned after a few seconds, before his hand loosened its grip on the thick, blonde hair in order to glide down to the side of Jim’s face.

McCoy could not see what exactly the Vulcan was doing, but he heard the distinct murmur of the dark voice that said, “And now sleep, Jim. You’ll need it.”

The Doctor jerked towards them, when the human twitched viciously once and suddenly slumped in on himself.

“What happened?!” he exclaimed, jumping to his bag and gripping the tricorder he had resting in there.

“You don’t have to distress yourself, Doctor,” said the Vulcan, who gingerly eased the unconscious Jim back down on the bed.

McCoy groused, “Don’t have to distress myself? What – “ something clicked and he stared slightly horrified at Spock, “What have you done to him? Was that some kind of... of Vulcan voodoo? These mind tricks you guys do?”

Brown eyes that had been scrutinizing the slack face of Jim suddenly jerked away and McCoy found himself on the receiving end of the penetrating stare.

“You know something about Vulcans?” asked the alien with a low, intense voice. McCoy found himself snorting slightly.

“Only what everyone else knows – next to nothing.”

A strange light entered Spock’s eyes and he pressed his lips together into a stern line. There were a few awkward seconds of silence before the Vulcan slowly drew his hands back and clasped them together.

“Would you please help James, Doctor?” he asked with a low voice, bowing his head slightly. The human hesitated, his eyes taking in the wounded man. Every instinct within him screamed to help the other; however, he hesitated.

“Will you attack me?” he asked uncertainly, his gaze rushing from the laceration on Spock’s forehead to the shackles that were binding him. The man slowly stood up, shaking his head with solemn conviction.

“No. I will go over there, if it eases your mind, Doctor,” he said, extending one arm and pointing with a long hand towards a corner on the other side of the room.

McCoy nodded slowly – just to make sure – and waited until the alien was out of reach before he –finally – got to work on the unconscious man.

He kneeled next to the bed and raised his tricorder – however, before he did anything he said calmly, “Would you please prepare a bath – he needs to be washed.”

There was silence in the room while the Doctor let his tricorder glide over the exhausted body. Every now and again he put the device aside in order to prod with his own hands at Jim.

He was deeply in thoughts and almost jumped, when the baritone voice from across the room said solemnly, “The bath is ready, Doctor.”

McCoy nodded taking two hypos out of his bag and injecting the prone man with them. Spock inquired softly, “May I ask what you have just done?”

“You may, when you help me get him inside the water. I can’t use the dermal regenerator as long as he’s so filthy,” McCoy growled. He shoved one arm under Jim’s shoulders and let out a strained ‘Unf!’, when the body barely moved.

The guy was heavy.

Spock was at the bed in a few strides, bowing down and shoving his long arms under the shoulders and knees of his companion, before lifting him with an ease that was scratching distinctly on McCoy’s male pride.

“Yeah... well... you go put him in the water and watch that he doesn’t drown,” he murmured, rummaging as an alibi in his bag while he waited for his face to take on a normal colour once more.

“As you wish.”

The Doctor raised his head, watching the retreating back of the Vulcan with a slight frown on his craggy face.

After he heard the splashing of the water that indicated Jim’s descent into the tub, he made his way gingerly across the room – looking around curiously. He hadn’t even noticed the carnage around.

His eyes went wide when he saw the state of the bathroom and he looked over towards the Vulcan.

“You went a little berserk, I take it?” he asked and was almost sure that the minute upwards twitch of slender shoulders was the Vulcan equivalent of a sheepish shrug.

“I was a little... distressed over Jim’s departure,” the alien admitted, which was in and off itself very unusual. A Vulcan admitting to feelings? Huh...

However, McCoy took this as a way to try and quench his unbearable curiosity.

“You two are... close?”

Spock was reaching inside the water with the hand that was not cradling the head of the man and let the water he had cupped in it carefully run down over the hair. He did not look at McCoy when he said, “One could say that. Yes.”

“So you’ve been ... ah... together? I mean before you’ve come here?”

Another handful of water found its way into Jim’s hair.

“We have been serving the same Master, before we came here. Yes.”

McCoy drew his eyebrows together slightly and went over towards the sink. He searched a little in the cabinets before he produced a washcloth and made it wet. While wringing it he said, “How did it come?”

“What do you mean?”

McCoy sighed and decided to be blunt, “How’d it come that you two are slaves?”

There was an icy silence spreading throughout the room, while McCoy turned around with the washcloth and went towards the Vulcan who was kneeling next to the bathtub. Dark eyes fixed him with disdain and the narrow back was rigid.

“You do not think that this is an awfully personal question to ask?” said the Vulcan. He watched intently as the Doctor gingerly sat down on the rim of the tub. McCoy slightly shrugged his shoulders and reached out with the washcloth towards Spock.

The Vulcan recoiled with a vehemence that the Southerner hadn’t anticipated after the way he unselfconsciously had touched his companion.

“What are you doing?” Spock asked with suspicion. McCoy narrowed his eyes.

“You got a nasty cut on your forehead. What do you think am I doing?” he spat. The Vulcan’s dark eyes widened ever so slightly and he raised his wet, free hand towards his forehead, slightly gracing the edge of the laceration with his fingertips as if noticing it for the first time.

“Oh.”

McCoy snorted.

“Yes, ‘Oh.’ And now take your hand away, so I can have a look.”

Reluctantly the Vulcan did as he was told. His eyes were wide open and watching intently McCoy’s face while the Doctor gripped his chin with one hand, tilted his head back and started wiping at the green, crusted blood.

It was awkward.

“May I now enquire your name, Doctor?” Spock asked after a while with a soft voice.

The Doctor halted minutely, a scrap of last night floating through his head.

‘Who are you?’ Spock had asked.To which McCoy, fiddling with a tricorder had answered, ‘Your Doctor, obviously.’

‘We never had a Doctor,’ had the Vulcan said and exchanged an enigmatic look with Jim.

McCoy resumed his wiping and cleared his throat.

“Doctor Leonard McCoy,” he said with a low voice. The Vulcan said nothing.

“You have a pretty fancy way of talking. So you... ah... have been to school? In the Vulcan Science Academy?” the Doctor asked after a few moments of tense silence.

Spock’s lips twitched slightly and he drew his head back from the grasping and wiping hands, turning it away towards Jim and taking the washcloth out of McCoy’s hand.

“You are quite insistent in your questioning, Doctor McCoy.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not every day that one is confronted with... hm...”

“Slaves?”

“...Yes.”

He watched as Spock cleaned the washcloth in the warm water his friend was floating in. The alien started wiping gently at the many little wounds in Jim’s body.

“Are his injuries serious?” asked the Vulcan, after he had been inspecting one of the deeper holes in Jim’s shoulder.

McCoy sighed and got up from his perch on the rim.

“Nah. They will be nearly gone after I had a shot with the dermal regenerator. He’s only totally exhausted and needs food as well as water. The hypos I gave him earlier? They were full of nutritional supplements. What you really should be concerned about is his psyche. I’m no psychiatrist, but he seemed pretty shaken back there.”

Spock let out one of those not-quite-sighs and murmured, “He will be all right. He is strong.”

“That he is,” murmured the Doctor under his breath and said a little louder, “I’ll go get the regenerator and get to work on your wounds while he soaks.”

Spock jerked his head around, watching McCoy with a certain kind of wonder in his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

The Doctor frowned. “Huh?”

“You want to... heal me?”

The Doctor took a step back. The honest surprise and suspicion in the dark voice made too many implications that he was not comfortable with. Had the alien really never been treated by a Doctor?

Horror filled him and he was not able to answer more eloquently than a jerkily nod of his head, before he turned around, almost fleeing the bathroom. He needed to get a grip back on himself.

 

When he got back with the regenerator in his hand, Spock was currently stretching in order to clean the genitals of his companion, while he still had a steady grip on the lax head. The Doctor stood in the door, silently watching the careful but efficient movements of the alien. There was a certain respect in the way the Vulcan handled the other man that touched something deep inside the gruff country Doctor.

He waited uncharacteristically tactful until Spock finally sat back again on his heels, before he strode near them.

Dark eyes were raised solemnly towards McCoy’s face.

“I can tell you how I came to be in Master K’troll’s possession. I will not, however, talk about Jim. It is not my place to disclose any information that he almost certainly does not want to be known,” he suddenly said, while his gaze travelled steadily down towards the device in McCoy’s hand as if drawn there by magnetic force.

The Southerner raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’ll tell my? Why?” he asked, while he took a seat upon the rim once more. Spock’s gaze never left the regenerator.

“You have been... most kind to James and myself – although a little unorthodox. I think it is my duty to repay you,” the alien said with a low voice.

McCoy caught himself before he said ‘Oh no, you don’t have to repay me’, because... really. He wanted to know what was going on around here.

“All right. You speak and I’ll heal your cuts while you – what is it?” the man asked a little exasperated as the brown eyes followed the movement of his hands.

Once more there was this minute twitch in the slender shoulders that seemed almost sheepish.

“I am... interested in your device,” he conceded after a few seconds. Both men stared at each other. McCoy could see the burning curiosity in the placid gaze and sighed.

“You may investigate it after everything is said and done.”

Slanted, silky black eyebrows jerked slightly upwards and Spock quickly averted his face in order to look at his friend. McCoy had the feeling that he didn’t want the Doctor to see the painful hope that had bloomed on the solemn face for but a second.

They were silent again, but when McCoy reached out and got a hold on Spock’s chin, turning his head around so he could see the wound and better, Spock began to speak as if the other man had pushed his start-button.

“I can not remember much. There was an accident and I had been gravely injured...”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

Spock was still small. He sat next to his mother in the shuttle they were currently occupying and gazed out into the dark void that was the universe. He would never admit to it but he thought the black expanse with the myriad white pinpricks that were stars not only fascinating, but also captivatingly beautiful.

“Look over there... there is a planet looking like Vulcan, Spock,” his mother whispered in one of his pointed ears and her arm appeared next to his face in order to point to the one she was speaking of.

She was right – the planet really looked like Vulcan with its red, hot deserts.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” his mother continued and he turned around looking at her, speaking with solemn conviction, “It simply is.”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

“What was her name?” McCoy said silently, while he let the regenerator glide over the laceration in Spock’s forehead. The Vulcan hesitated for a second.

“I... can’t remember.”

“What does she look like, then?”

Soft, dark eyes slowly closed in an expression of clear pain.

“I can’t remember,” he said once more and McCoy swallowed heavily.

 

.oO...Oo.

 

His father was sitting across the shuttle – he had two seats for himself because he needed the extra space in order to do his work. Spock was every now and again looking over towards the papers. He was immensely interested in the work of his father, but he thought it unVulcan to express this kind of curiosity.

“My dear. Why don’t you let Spock read some of the documents? I think he gets a little bored. It’s a long way towards the conference, after all,” his mother piped suddenly up.

He did not show it, but he felt gratitude towards her. And even more towards his father, who solemnly handed over some of the documents he had deemed appropriate to give his son without any comment of condescension.

 

.oO...Oo.

 

“Your father’s name? His face?” McCoy wanted to know, but the tightening in the corners of Spock’s mouth told him the story even before the man said, “I can’t remember. I remember them being there – but they’re... blurred. I have already tried many times to... unearth their identities, but I am simply unable to. In fact, I couldn’t tell you any of my relatives or other associates from the time before. I know bits and pieces. I still know how Vulcan looked. I know some of the disciplines they obviously must’ve taught me at some point. I remember some of the wildlife. I remember a great, white house that was probably my home once upon a time, but...”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“Not even the documents your father gave you? They may give you a clue as to who he is or where he is working...”

Spock tightened his jaw and drew his face away from the regenerator. There was still a narrow cut on his forehead and McCoy protested, “I’m not finished!”

“You can continue soon. I want to get Jim out of the water.”

McCoy huffed. If that wasn’t a reprimand Vulcan-style, he did not know what was.

They found a towel with which they dried the still unconscious man. McCoy estimated that he would probably sleep until late into the night or the next morning – he had a lot of energy to refill.

Spock drew the blanket up to the hips of his companion, when Jim finally was back in bed and motioned for McCoy to step closer.

“Please tend to his wounds first. We can’t know when the Master is back.”

The Doctor had been leaning over Jim but recoiled with force, utter disgust on his face.

“What did you call him?”

Spock straightened regally.

“He did not tell me his name.”

“He’s Antonio Vargaz. And damn you to hell if you ever call him ‘Master’ within my hearing again. He’s a piece of shit, that’s what he is,” McCoy said with such vehemence that the Vulcan looked almost chagrined.

“As you wish,” he amended finally.

McCoy growled, leaning over Jim and spitting, “Look at you – standing there all tall and mighty in your chains and collar and acting like a damn servant. If that isn’t a contradiction, I don’t know what is. You are a mighty strange fellow, I can tell you that. I mean – you Vulcans have eidetic memories and you can’t remember your own family?!”

He halted a moment after he realized that his mouth had run off with him and risked a glance towards Spock.

The Vulcan stood stiffly at the side of the bed, the corners of his mouth drawn slightly downwards, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I... uh...” McCoy started uneasily, but the Vulcan interrupted with a deceptively soft voice.

“I’ll continue, Doctor McCoy. Shall I?”

“...Yes.”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

Spock was becoming kind of sleepy. Their journey would still take a few hours and he had perused every document his father was willing to part from until his vision went kind of blurry and he had to force himself not to yawn. He leaned his head at the bulkhead of the shuttle; it was a testimony of how tired he was, when his mother started gently rubbing the back of his neck and he didn’t pull away.

It simply felt far too nice to do so. It was hard keeping his eyes open and he drowsily stared at the side of the shuttle. He could just-so read the name of the vehicle.

Tal-tor it was called. Spock’s eyes fell shut, while he was lulled to sleep by the engines and the soothing rubbing of his neck.

 

When he opened his eyes again it was because he was jolted awake due to a heavy rocking of the shuttle. He jerked out of his slumber and looked around with alarm while his mother exclaimed, “What happened?”

The Captain in the front turned around. His voice sounded distressed.

“We are being attacked!”

Spock gripped the armrests of his seat very tight in order not to get flung out of his seat when the shuttle was pushed abruptly forward.

“Can you contact the other ship?” he heard his father’s voice. It was calm and collected as ever. Spock turned his head, gazing out of the window at his side. He could see a dark ship; it was many times bigger than their shuttle and it looked vicious and threatening.

The Vulcan swallowed heavily. His eyes widened, when he saw a stream of pure energy rush towards them and a strangled scream escaped him, when he ducked. Spock hadn’t even the time to feel chagrined over his lapse of control, when the shuttle jostled again and tilted to one side.

“Spock!” he heard his mother scream and her arms went immediately around her son.

“I have tried to contact them. They are not responding; I suspect they are...”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

“...Slavers?” McCoy asked with a subdued voice, while he tended to all the little puncture wounds on Jim’s body. Spock’s already pale complexion was positively waxen by now. The Vulcan nodded slightly.

“Yes... slavers.”

 

.oO...Oo.

 

Everything had happened so fast in the end. They had been near a planet when the attack had started and due to one of the engines shutting off they were slowly but surely drifting into the atmosphere until they were within range of the gravitational pull.

It had been eerily quiet in the shuttle, while the Captain desperately tried to get back into space and away from their attackers. Spock remembered his father coming towards them and calmly saying something to his mother.

They were talking, while his mother’s grip upon him got ever tighter up until the point of restricting his breathing. He did not protest it – his hands were fisted into the robe she wore.

He remembered her scent of tulips and, when his father bowed down towards him, the scent of his sharp aftershave.

The shuttle was hit yet again from their attackers and it tilted so sharply that everyone lost their balance and toppled over. Spock hit his head against the floor and everything went dark.

 

When he came to again, his vision was blurry. Even after blinking four more times it did not clear. He could hear garbled voices and see dark shapes hovering above him.

He could not move – his arms were restricted.

“He’s rare. Three thousand credits.”

“Look at his wounds – what if he dies tomorrow? One thousand credits.”

“He has survived for 48 hours. If he hasn’t died by now, he isn’t going to die tomorrow. Come on, K’troll – you’ll never get something like him again. He’s young and malleable. It’ll be perfect.”

“He’ll be missed...”

“Not when you keep him disclosed in your manor. Never let him free – look at his skin. It’ll become even paler. You like them pale, don’t you? 2500 credits.”

“That head wound looks pretty nasty. What if he wakes up and can’t even tie his own shoes? 1500.”

“He woke up every now and again. We questioned him.”

Spock was nearly offended. He did not remember waking. His head was pounding nastily and he wanted to roll on his side and curl to a little ball. However, he could not. He blinked frantically, trying to get his surroundings into focus.

“He does remember next to nothing. You’ll be able to form him in any way you want. So – two thousand credits? He’s a Vulcan, after all.”

He did not understand what was going on. He heard a heavy sigh and then a reluctant, “Well all right...”

There was a clapping sound as if flesh was hitting on flesh. A handshake maybe?

One of the blurry figures above him drew closer and he was able to discern unnaturally red skin, a bald head and piercing blue eyes.

The alien opened its mouth presenting him with two rows of sharp teeth and a bad breath.

“So, my little one. You’ll come with me today. You are my property now – can you understand that? Hm? You belong to me. You may call me Master. Master K’troll.”

Spock opened his mouth and wanted to say something. Wanted to tell him that this was not possible – one could not simply own another creature without its consent. That was highly... uncalled for. He was his own person. He was Spock, son of...

He blinked into the grinning face of the red skinned alien, who patted him on the cheek and drew back from him in order to close the deal.

Spock felt cold dread course through him. Whose son was he? He could not remember. And what was that hurtful pounding place deep within the recesses of his mind?

His eyelids started to flutter without him being able to stop it.

He slid back into unconsciousness.

 

.oO...Oo.

 

McCoy was silent. He felt subdued and vaguely nauseated. He had finished with Jim and was currently healing the cuts on Spock’s knuckles.

The Vulcan had spoken without much inflection in his voice and the Doctor could only try and imagine what was probably going on inside him.

“What about your parents?” he asked at last, his head stubbornly bowed over his work.

“I have been told they died when the shuttle hit the ground.”

McCoy noticed the careful phrasing and chanced a glance upwards.

“You don’t think they’re dead?”

Spock avoided his gaze and looked at a point right over his shoulder.

“I... have no conclusive evidence to suspect it,” he said slowly and after a deep breath continued with a low voice, “However, I also have no conclusive evidence to trust what in I have been told. I have been lied to on a regular basis.”

McCoy swallowed.

“I bet,” he murmured and slowly lowered the regenerator.

He asked the next question against his better judgement, but he just needed to know.

“How old have you been?”

“Eight earth years.”

McCoy turned away, pretending to search something in his bag, while he tried to get the shaking of his hands and his quickened breath back under control.

Eight years.

‘My god... He had been younger than Joanna is now.’

When Spock politely asked to investigate the dermal regenerator he handed it over without a second thought. He sat with the alien for as long as he dared to without making Vargaz suspicious and answered every question the man asked about the device.

He seemed highly intelligent – not uncommon for a Vulcan.

It also seemed as if McCoy hadn’t even begun to scratch the tip of the iceberg.

“How old are you two?” he asked, when he packed his things.

“I am twenty-three. Jim is twenty,” Spock answered readily. His eyes were gleaming with the joy of being treated to intellectual input.

McCoy took a deep breath. They were both still so young and yet they seemed to have such world weary depth to them.

‘And they have spoken about Starfleet...’

He raised his wrist and spoke into the communicator that he was ready to leave.

“Tell your friend I said ‘Hi’,” he said, while they waited for the metal door to slide open.

Spock tilted his head to the side.

“I will... But it seems somehow unnecessary and illogical.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

“I’ll... try to get back to you two.”

Dark, soft eyes regarded him steadily.

“Why?”

“I want to help you.”

Spock was looking so taken aback by that comment that it brought a bitter smile to the face of the rough Doctor.

 

When McCoy was led through the mansion towards Vargaz’ office by one of the few maids, he was deeply in thoughts. One particular part of Spock’s story was flitting through his mind.

‘If he’s right then the name of the shuttle was Tal-tor. One should be able to search through databanks... look for newspaper articles or some such. Hmmm.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I've no idea how to coax AO3 to make passages in italic... I hope it is not too confusing for you


	6. Interlude I: I used to be your lap dog, now I'm just a stray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing; Dubious consent; Underage sexuality; Trauma

Jim came back to the Starbase only to find the doors that had accepted him the last three weeks closed off. His eyebrows drew together in confusion and a feeling of vague dread spread through his stomach.

He peered through the wire mesh fence – there was activity behind the windows of the huge bulbous building that was the Starbase on Tarsus IV – however, there were no hovercars driving to and fro the slightly smaller buildings that were surrounding the main building like breadcrumbs, which in itself was very unusual. There were always shuttles or spaceships that needed to be loaded or that wanted to unload their cargo.

Jim curled his fingers into the fence and frowned deeply, turning his head this way and that and looking for someone who would let him in.

“Hey, Kid!” came a gruff voice from behind. Jim did not jump – he was accustomed to being caught from his mother at the most inopportune moments and his nerves were strong as steel in this regard. He turned around with an expression of pure innocence on his face.

A guard stood before him, giving him a curt once-over.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” he asked. Jim raised his dark-blonde eyebrows and threw him a cheeky grin.

“I’m supposed to be in there working, Sir. The mechanics of the gate must be screwed up – it would not accept my security code,” he said honestly while shoving his backpack with his lunch further up his shoulder. The man snorted slightly, reaching out and gripping one bicep of the teenager.

“Yeah, well – you’re shit out of luck then, kiddo. Nobody’s working there anymore; nobody that isn’t strictly necessary, that is,” the guard said, while dragging Jim with him. The boy’s eyes widened and he dug his heels into the ground, fighting against being led away from the premises of the Starbase.

“W-Wait! What’s that supposed to mean?” he exclaimed, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.

The guard looked over his shoulder and frowned.

“Don’t you listen to the newscast?”

“Well...”

“We have caught a virus that is screwing with the crops. It’s highly contagious, so until we have found a cure there are no shuttles leaving or arriving. Ergo the Starbase has buckled down on its employees.”

Jim’s hazel eyes widened and he gaped at the man.

“E-Excuse me? They can’t just throw me out without so much as a by your leave! For one I need the money to pay the rent at the family I’m staying with and for two... how long is there no traffic?”

The man sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, contemplating the yout.

“About a week or two, I reckon. Listen, kid – the family you’re staying with won’t throw you out on your ass. How old are you anyway?”

“Fifteen.”

“There – see? They won’t throw a teenager out on the streets just because we adults fucked the security protocols up.”

He bristled at being practically called a kid, but held his tongue and straightened his shoulders.

“I’ll have to catch a flight back to earth next week. I was only here for my summer holidays...”

The guard shrugged with his shoulders again.

“Look, Kid...”

“Jim.”

“Yeah, well. I have no clue what they’re planning in the Base, but I can assure you that you don’t have to be afraid that you won’t get back to earth. Just hang in there like everyone else and in a week or two everything’s going to be just fine,” the man said, clapping Jim heartily on the shoulder. The teenager almost stumbled with the force – almost.

“I’m not afraid...” he grumbled, while he threw a longing gaze backwards towards the Starbase. He had loved working there the last three weeks. He was just crazy about the whole space flight.

The guard scrutinized the young not-quite-man standing in front of him, a sly grin spreading his lips. He raised his hand and ruffled the gold blonde hair of the kid – Jim. It felt exceptionally soft.

“Yeah, I know. Just run home towards your foster family, all right?” he said, watching in amusement as the boy stepped with an expression of pure indignation on his face away from his touch.

“Hmpf... have no other choice, do I? Well, thank you, Sir,” he sighed, saluting the man, who nodded stiffly back.

“No problem. Bye, Jim.”

Jim went reluctantly back the way that he had come only half an hour ago. He already mourned the week of work with starships that had been snatched from under his fingers.

The guard watched him go, bringing the hand with which he had ruffled the hair up to his nose and inhaled the fresh, clean scent of the boy.

 

‘Just hang in there like everyone else and in a week or two everything’s going to be just fine,’ the guard had said. Jim thought in the coming weeks often about that part of the conversation. Especially after the food supply got shorter and shorter due to the crops being next to useless and the shuttles being prohibited from entering or leaving.

In his opinion that was a bullshit decision. Should they all starve? Kodos didn’t seem to mind.

There. That was a name that had sprung up more often during the last month and his reaction to it was increasingly more volatile.

What did that bastard do? He was sitting in his tower – overlooking the large settlement and probably dining like a king every night. They had no contact to other planets. No news were forwarded. Jim had the feeling that there was much more going on than they were told. The family that he had stayed with was nice, but they simply could not afford to feed him additionally to there two little children.

Not that they had not tried – they really had; Jim, however, was too proud to be fed by people who were clearly struggling for every little breadcrumb they had to offer. So he simply did not appear to the meals and searched for his own food on the streets, only coming back to the little house late in the night and going again in the morning.

One night he had found a little memo attached to the door of the room he was sleeping in – it had been from the woman, simply stating, ‘Thank you.’

Jim had the little note always in the back of his jeans. It was reminding him that he was doing something good in the face of the hunger that was plaguing him constantly. The temptation to just go there, sit on there table and demand with his presence passive aggressively to be fed was getting bigger each day.

So Jim started sneaking around the Starbase – just to look at it. He had a vivid imagination and it was helping him distracting himself from the hollow cavity that had formerly been his stomach.

He imagined getting to Starfleet Academy. He had not been the best of students up until now, but that had been due to the fact that it had simply bored him.

Spaceflight, however – now that was something interesting. Every time he closed his eyes and imagined himself of being on the bridge of one of those new, sleek Starships, a feeling of excitement and almost giddiness overcame him.

‘I would work myself up until I have my own ship... Captain James Tiberius Kirk. That has a ring to it, doesn’t it? Oh damn, that really sounds nice...’ he thought, while longingly gazing through the mesh wire; the fingers of one hand were curled in it, while his other hand was pressed against his gurgling stomach.

He wondered what his mother and Sam were doing right now back on earth. Were they worrying? Probably. It had been his mother, after all, that had dug out this job for him.

‘I know you love Starships, Jimmy. You are just like your father. An application for the Academy would be just so much easier when you can show them that you have already a little practical knowledge, you know? And this new settlement around the Starbase on Tarsus IV is really advanced. You’ll have a blast of a summer vacation.’

Jim snorted slightly. Yeah... it was a blast, all right. He did not really blame her – who could’ve predicted this outcome? – but it helped distracting him from the gnawing hunger.

Back on earth he had thought he had been hungry a few times. But only after he had been here on Tarsus IV and had felt the agony of being really and truly hungry, did he know what that meant.

It felt like his stomach was eating itself up inside his body; he often got dizzy and had to sit down and his finger nails and the corners of his mouth were showing the first tender signs of missing vitamins.

Jim closed his eyes with a deep sigh and let his head hang low down, when a voice from behind him startled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey... Jim, is it? Long time no see, kiddo.”

Jim turned around and his eyebrows drew up in surprise, when he recognized the same guard from one month prior – the one that had given him the unfortunate news of the virus that was plaguing them.

“Oh... Hello, Sir.”

“How are you? I’ve seen you around a few times... but I’ve been busy and on duty, so I couldn’t talk to you,” the man said with a smile. He was tall and had a sharply angled jaw that was rough with a day’s stubble.

Jim smiled wryly.

“I’m fine, Sir. Other than the hunger, that is. That week is awfully long, you know?” he said, cheekily eluding to their first conversation and the guard’s reassurances that had proven futile. The man grinned lopsidedly and raised his shoulders in a sheepish shrug.

“Couldn’t have known it. And call me Roy – Sir sounds so... old.”

“Sure thing.”

It was nice, talking to someone for a change. He had no acquaintances in this settlement; when he had been still working on the Starbase, he had been there from the crack of dawn until the sun had set – he had been just too immersed in everything Starfleet-related.

And now everyone was way too distressed over the food shortage in order to make nice with a teenage boy rummaging through the streets.

He leaned against the fence behind him, raising one leg and propping his foot on the mesh wire. He saw the man intently scrutinizing him with a strange gleam in his eyes and curled his fingers slightly uneasy into the metal.

He cleared his throat, “So... um... Why are you talking to me now, when you haven’t the past days?”

The lips of the man – Roy – stretched into a lazy grin.

“I’m not on duty.”

Jim looked at him critically. Roy was still wearing his guard uniform – he didn’t look like he was off duty. The man laughed when he saw the sharp intelligence in the hazel eyes of the boy and shrugged again sheepishly.

“I just came off my shift. I wanted to grab a bite in the cafeteria and head home.”

Jim’s stomach, which he had forgotten for the moment, made itself known all of a sudden with a vengeance, gurgling vehemently at the mention of food. The boy straightened his shoulders and threw his head back in stubborn defiance, staring at Roy and daring him to laugh over him.

The man, however, did no such thing. He took a step closer towards him and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“You wanna grab a bite?”

Jim almost bit his tongue when he jerked in surprise.

“What?”

“Come with me. I’ll share my food ration with you,” Roy said, bracing himself with his elbow against the mesh wire right next to Jim’s head and leaning in to the young man until Jim could feel the breath of his conversational partner on his face. It was hot and smelled of mint. It was not unpleasant, but he took a step backwards nonetheless.

He avoided the look of intense, blue eyes and shrugged his shoulders slightly. He did not want to seem too eager – despite what his stomach seemed to think.

“I don’t want to steal food from anyone,” he murmured stubbornly. Roy clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Naw, you won’t be stealing, kiddo – excuse me: Jimmm,” he said, drawing the name out long, when the teenager threw him a dark look and he pushed away from the fence.

“On the Base we have plenty of food; we are pretty efficient in rationing our supplies. Come – you look like a starved lion,” he crooned, watching the mane of golden hair and the exotic hazel eyes that were far too intelligent for his liking.

Right now they were narrowing slightly and the young man shook slowly his head.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Roy...”

A slight sigh, then, “I don’t know, Roy. I really don’t want to be a burden and there are a few people waiting for me...”

That was a bluff. Roy knew it. Saw it in the minute twitch of the hazel eyes that were gliding just-so away from his penetrating gaze. He did not let on that he knew it, though.

Roy heaved a deep sigh.

“Aw... all right. Then I’ll have to eat all by myself. Or maybe I’ll find Captain Mitchell and he’ll keep me company,” he said, playing his last trump card. Roy had not been lying – he had been watching the kid coming here day after day for hours on end, as he was positively mooning over the Starbase; and he thought he knew the reason for it.

The eager light entering the finely chiselled face told him that he had been dead right.

“A Captain? You know one?”

“Sure...” he said lazily, grinning to himself. Boys and their starships... always the same.

“You think I could... meet him sometime?” Jim asked with youthful hope that showed that he still was – despite his intelligence and wary behaviour – still half a child.

‘Bingo,’ Roy thought, careful not to show the glee on his face.

“Hmm... I could ask him tomorrow... But Captains are busy men, you know.”

“’Course I know!” Jim said eagerly, following Roy, when the man made a gesture that was encouraging him to do so.

They were deeply immersed in talking about Captains and the inner workings on a starship – from which Roy knew next to nothing, but the kid was relentless in his blabbering; seemed as if he hadn’t really talked for the last month and was letting everything out now – and only came to a halt, when the guard opened one of the storage areas.

It was packed with hundreds of crates.

“Uh... what are we doing here?” Jim asked, realizing suddenly that he had let himself get carried away in his enthusiasm. Roy threw him a short glance.

“You wanted to eat. But I can’t take you with me into the cafeteria. It’s not allowed, you know? We really have to watch our rations. But if you wait here I’ll be right back with the tray.”

Jim looked decidedly confused. “I never said, that I wanted to eat...” he murmured and a wave of dizziness seized him at this most unfortunate moment, forcing him to lean against one of the crates if he didn’t want to fall down. He felt strong hands grip his biceps and guide him towards a smaller box on which he could sit.

“You may not have said that you want it, but you obviously need it. Wait here, Jim. You don’t have to be afraid, you know. I won’t do you anything.”

The extraordinary hazel eyes flashed in stubborn pride.

“I’m not afraid,” he said quickly, while he tried to steady himself. The corners of Roy’s mouth curled upwards.

“No, you’re not. Just sit here, I’m back in a tick,” the guard crooned, while allowing himself to reach up and card one hand through the golden mane of the boy. Jim did not react to it and Roy’s grin turned slightly predatory.

He turned away and hurried out of the storage area – he didn’t want to leave the skittish teenager too long alone.

 

When he came back with a tray of broth and a large loaf of fluffy bread, Jim had leaned backwards against another crate and was staring at the ceiling with eyes that were slightly glazed. He seemed pretty out of it.

“I’m back,” Roy announced his presence and the young man blinked a few times, before he slowly lowered his gaze towards the guard. When his eyes fell upon the trey, pure animal greed entered them.

Jim licked his pale pink lips; Roy watched intently. The guard lowered the tray so the blonde boy could see the food upon it.

“Looks good?” he asked innocently. Jim licked his lips again and nodded. He swallowed a few times convulsively; his hands were balling themselves repeatedly into fists and Roy thought that he was probably desperately grappling for any scrap of pride and self-discipline he had.

The guard was reluctantly impressed. For his age he was quite determined and strong willed – at least considering the way he had to be half starved.

Jim was fixing the food with a stare that was almost hypnotized.

“I give it to you, if you want,” Roy was now saying. His heart was starting to beat faster; now or never. He licked his lips nervously and drew the tray away from hands that had involuntarily jerked towards it.

“However... I’d like a little payment for it.”

Jim raised his eyes instantly and his gaze went a little sharper.

“I have no money.”

“I was not talking about money.”

“...I should go now,” the boy said suddenly, starting to slide from the crate.

“H-Hey! Wait a moment!” Roy hastily put the tray down on another crate and grabbed onto Jim’s shoulder. The teenager struggled immediately.

“Let me go! I’m not stupid, you know? I knew there was something fishy about it,” the blonde young man growled and pushed against the guard’s chest. Roy shook his head.

“You have no idea what I want from you and – “

“You wanna stick your cock up my ass. No way, you sick fuck!” the boy said suddenly with such a crude vehemence that it drove Roy into a startled laugh. That didn’t earn him any points from the teenager, who shot him a murderous death glare.

“How did you figure that one out, kiddo?” he asked. Jim gritted his teeth.

“I may be young, but I do know what happens in the world. Or the universe... or whatever. I’m going now.”

“But what’s with your meeting with Mitchell? I saw him just in the cafeteria, you know. He’ll see when he has time and – “

“No. I’m going.”

The gaze of the hazel eyes was hard and unwavering. Roy still had a solid grip on his shoulder and was drawing the teenager near to him.

“You got everything wrong, Jim. I don’t want to stick my anything into you. Really,” he said, staring into those golden-green eyes. Jim hesitated; he looked dubious. Roy continued hastily as long as he had the advantage, “I’m not into that whole rape stuff, you know. It’s not my style... I just want to watch.”

Jim blinked a few times. His lips opened a little, then closed again. The guard waited, watching intently, until the young man said haltingly, “What... do you mean? What do you want to watch?”

Roy let his eyes wander for a few seconds along the body of the teenager. It was still kind of slender, but it already was starting to fill out nicely and one could more than imagine the stocky, muscled built it would soon have.

“I want to watch you pleasure yourself,” the other man said. Jim took an immediate step backwards, his head in the process of being shaken from left to right in denial, when Roy said insistently, “I won’t touch you. I’ll just sit on a crate opposite and watch. And afterwards you get to eat the whole tray. It’s just another kind of deal, you know? Many people sell their bodies in order to pay for their food and rent and stuff. It’s only... work. And pretty easy too, yes? You get to feel nice and you also get some delicious food into your belly; what’s easier then that?” Roy crooned. He saw the hazel eyes flick every now and again towards the tray of food and there was the deep animal longing in the youthful eyes again.

“Unless... you’re afraid, that is. Which I could totally understand...”

He must’ve been really hungry.

“I’m not afraid...” came the reply – but it was whispered and sounded unsure.

Roy could see the stubborn bravado crumble slowly from the boy and when his eyes went overly bright the guard was reminded of the fact that Jim was alone on this planet, far away from family and right in the middle of a crisis that made the whole population of the settlement restless and tense.

He had sympathy for the boy – he seemed in that moment so utterly young – but nonetheless... he had brought him this far and he would bring him even farther.

When the teenager bit his lower lip, Roy felt a surge of triumph that ended in his rapidly swelling cock.

“You’ll be sitting on another crate?” Jim said finally with a low voice and averted his eyes to the floor.

Roy could see the nervousness of the young man and stepped away from him in order to show his willingness to play by the rules.

“Yep. On that crate over there. And I won’t be budging from it,” he said encouragingly, while pointing in a direction behind him. Jim was chewing on his bottom lip.

His stomach gurgled loudly and tears sprang again to his eyes – Roy did not know which had elicited them. Shame? Hurt? Fear?

“All right,” Jim said at last. He took a few deep breaths then straightened his shoulders with intent. Roy thanked all the gods for this most fortunate turn of events. He surveyed the blonde teenager one more time and nodded.

“All right,” he whispered eagerly back and repeated again, “All right.” He turned around quickly, walking towards the box he intended to use; his gate was strange – he had to limp a bit due to his cock currently being painfully restrained by the trousers he wore.

When he sat down on the box and looked back, Jim hadn’t moved from his spot. He looked pale under the tanned skin of his face and rubbed his palms against the fabric of his jeans.

“What... shall I do?” he asked, while staring at the floor. Roy’s stomach twisted and he palmed the twitching shaft of his erection through his trousers.

“Sit on the box you’ve been on earlier,” he instructed hoarsely.

 

Jim did, as he was told. It was like his brain had simply shut down and he was flying on auto-pilot. A tiny voice deep in his mind screamed at him, asking him what he was doing and if he had lost his mind.

He supposed he probably had.

His dizzy brain was full of the words Roy had spoken.

‘It’s just a job. It’s so easy. You get to eat the full tray.’

And wasn’t that an enticing prospect? His stomach was hurting so badly... and the food looked simply delicious. And the guy was right – plenty of people sold their bodies. And Roy didn’t want to touch him, after all...

‘It’s just... work... isn’t it? I can work...’ he thought and his mouth fell open, when he smelled the delicious scent of the broth.

He sat on the crate, his hands loosely dangling between his knees and he just waited. After a few seconds came the croaked command, “Open your shirt.”

Jim did not look over towards the guard. He wanted to pretend that he was alone in his room – he suspected that it would be easier that way.

His thick, calloused fingers shook only minutely when he started to unbutton the flannel shirt he was wearing. He heard a silent whistling from the destination of the other box, when his shirt fell open at last.

“Damn, but you’re a gorgeous thing,” crooned the other one with a choked voice. Goosebumps were spreading across Jim’s chest. It was kind of... nice, to be complimented. It flattered his teenage ego and made him a little more sure of himself.

He looked down on his body; his abdominal muscles were visible just-so under taut, tanned skin and his chest was a smooth expanse that promised to become even wider and more muscular in future. The flannel shirt fell open a little more, exposing one of the tiny, rust coloured nipples.

“Holy shit, you’re fine...You work out or something?” came the breathless question from across him. He just shrugged with his shoulders. He did not trust his voice and he didn’t want to talk about Iowa and the farm right now. They seemed unbelievably far away at the moment.

“Touch yourself.”

Jim’s hands raised without his accord. He knew what he liked best. He leaned back, bracing himself with one arm, while the hand of the other one rubbed lazily across tight abdominal muscles.

He constricted them and traced the sharper outlines with his fingers, before they wandered up towards his pectoral muscles; he rubbed with the rough pad of his thumb across one nipple, drawing it up into a sensitive nub that he grazed with his finger nail.

A shot of surprising arousal spiked through him and directly to his cock that was twitching in interest.

“You’re so fine... yes... Open your trousers now, will you?” hissed the dark voice of Roy. It slithered into Kirk’s consciousness like a snake.

The teenager did as he was told, slowly opening his trousers and after a short moment of hesitation, he raised his bottom in order to shove them down his hips together with his boxer shorts.

He heard a deep, huffing moan from the other side and bit his lip so forcefully that he was sure he tasted blood.

‘Don’t look over to him. You are alone in your room...’

Jim gingerly slid back on the box.

 

“God you are magnificent... look at you... so gorgeous,” Roy panted. He had freed his own cock, rubbing it lazily, while his eyes raked over the tanned, golden body in front of him. The boy had incredibly thick muscled legs that were dusted with a fleece of golden hair, which became a thick thatch of curls surrounding the proudly jutting penis of Jim.

Roy licked his lips, staring at the length that was even now magnificent. That boy would be such a treat in two or three more years...

He already had the heavy, low hanging testicles of a stud and while he was watching, the half-hard length filled out even more; becoming a thick, hard rod.

Roy chanced a glance up into the face of the boy. Jim was staring at his own erection like it was some kind of mystery.

The guard started to grin.

‘Yeah... You can always count on the horniness of a teenager. You’ll learn that soon enough, kiddo...”

“Touch yourself,” he rasped.

When Roy saw Jim slowly close his large hand around the head of his erection and tentatively rub his palm across it, Roy knew, that he would go to hell... definitely. This kid was like an incubus. It was intoxicating to watch as he slowly started jerking off – drawing his fist down the proud column of flesh and taking the foreskin with it; exposing a glistening, dusky head that seemed to swell even further in the cool air of the storage room.

He could see the teenager slowly warming up to his task. His motions became more self-assured and bold. He tugged and squeezed and his head was slowly dropping backwards, exposing his throat and his thick neck – Roy could see the Adam’s apple vibrate with the silent moans of the young man.

When his motions became more frantic, his thumb collecting the moisture that was gathering on the head on a more frequent basis, rubbing it across the taut skin of his erection, Jim drew his knees up, bracing his feet on the edge of the crate.

Roy moaned heavily and deep, the hand that wasn’t holding his dick in a death grip shot down, clutching at his testicles and drawing them forcefully away from his body in order not to climax too soon.

He doubted that the kid even knew how absolutely debauched he looked at the moment. And damned he could see the tight, pink pucker of the guy between the tense globes of his ass.

The hand of the boy travelled now between his thighs, cupping his lightly furred testicles and gently rubbing them.

It did not take long after that.

There were only a few more tugs.

Roy was panting like a dog in heat, desperately drawing his testicles away from his body and pressing with the heel of his hand at the root of his erection in order to prolong his orgasm. He wanted to come with the kid.

And he did.

Oh lord did he ever.

They both shot their load in high, forceful arcs, splattering the floor with creamy, white semen.

Roy held his eyes open wide, staring at Jim – he wanted to take everything in.

The boy had been as silent as a mouse the whole time, but at the moment of his climax, a nearly strangled sounding ‘Hnnngggh’ had escaped his straining throat; and even after he had wrung every last drop from his slowly softening dick, his stomach muscles still tightened in convulsive almost painful looking movements.

“Gorgeous...”

 

Jim had dressed himself very quickly afterwards. He did not say a word. He only listened with half an ear to Roy that was solemnly promising him more food if he came back the next day, while he ravenously gobbled down his payment.

When he left, he thought ‘It’s only another kind of work. And he did not touch me. He paid me. It’s only work, Jim.’

Then why did he feel so hollow and dirty?

 

He came back the next day. And the next. And the day after that. In fact he came back to Roy for one whole week.

Every time it was the same; they got into the storage area. Roy got a tray with food. He masturbated in front of the man. Roy never broke his promise. He never touched him. Afterwards, he ate the food like a stray dog on the street with fast and efficient movements.

And then he went back home to his foster family feeling a little more hollow every time.

 

Jim knew that something was not right with him. That this new... occupation of his was not good for his psyche. He knew he was walking the streets of Tarsus IV like a zombie. He felt the deep depression that was seemingly engulfing his whole being, but he was unable to shake it off. He was not able to draw himself out of the stupor he had somehow catapulted himself into.

Every time he was in the storage area it seemed like he was stepping a little more out of himself – watching the happenings like a silent spectator and feeling the apathy crawl over him like a slow working poison.

He was disgusted with himself and yet he came back day after day – drawn in by the promise of food and kind, encouraging words that were like balm on the soul of a fifteen year old young man that was far away from home and all alone.

He was not afraid.

No, he was not.

He wanted his Mom.

 

One and a half weeks later, there was another man greeting him additionally to Roy. He was wearing the same guard uniform as Roy.

He was introduced as Gary Mitchell.

Jim did not comment on the fact that this was everything – just no Captain. He did not say anything, in fact. When Mitchell told him, that he had heard from his friend what a ‘good boy’ he was, he only nodded.

When Mitchell said he was an exquisite creature, while stroking through his hair, Jim did not pull away.

When the three of them were in the storage room and Mitchell asked him, if he ever had sucked a cock, he shook his head in mute denial, dull eyes fixed on inquisitive brown ones.

“Let’s see, then, how you’ll manage. If you make it good, I could get you a new job. A really nice one.”

Jim perked a little bit up at that, a little of the dull stupor leaving his gaze.

“In the Starbase?”

Mitchell’s lips curved upwards, while he pushed the boy downwards.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Renewed hope was fluttering in Jim’s chest. Bleak desperation battered at the inside of his skull, telling him all sorts of things that had never been spoken aloud but that were his deepest, most sacred dreams.

It helped him distract himself from the fact that the tip of a leaking cock was brushed across his pale, pink lips or that a voice crooned to him to ‘open up wide’.

He tasted the salty, tangy flavour of the pre-ejaculate. It seemed to assault his taste buds and drew a sudden stream of saliva from him, that slowly dripped down his chin, while the cock was shoved deeper inside his mouth.

He could hear Roy groan somewhere to the right of him. He was watching the whole scene.

Mitchell held his head with a fast grip, his fingers deeply buried into the thick, soft hair of the teenager, while he very slowly pushed into the open, hot mouth and withdrew again.

“Suck,” he demanded. Jim complied with dumb obedience.

“More,” the guy moaned. Jim complied.

“Look at me, you little slut... You gorgeous whore. Yes, yes that’s right. Look at me. Don’t look away, now. God, but you’re exquisite. You look like a lion.”

Jim was crouching, staring up at the man. Mitchell was not hurting him. His grip was strong on his head, but not painful. His movements were slow and measured. He did nothing harsh.

Even down on his knees, sucking the first cock of his life, Jim felt strangely drawn in by the compliments he was getting.

A little voice inside his head was screaming, “You are so fucked up. Don’t you realize that you have a serious problem? You are depressed – you are far away from home and you are fucking hungry. They’re only exploiting you. Don’t let them do this, Jim. Don’t.”

But he could not move a muscle.

“I’m giving you something to eat, boy...” Mitchell growled suddenly, his burning eyes fixed on the stretched, wet lips and the strangely closed off face of the handsome young man.

When burst after burst of hot semen hit the back of Jim’s throat and his tongue, tears sprung in his eyes. He could not draw back, however, due to the grip on his head.

A hand petted his hair in a mockery of affection and Mitchell crooned out of breath, “Swallow it. Swallow it all, my beautiful.”

Jim closed his eyes, tears glistening in the thick, long lashes.

He swallowed.

 

“I’ve got something for you. You’ll be perfect for it. Meet me tomorrow at 8 p.m. outside Baker’s little mall. I’ll introduce you to him.”

Jim nodded slowly. His brain providing him with, ‘You’ll work on the Starbase after all.’ But he did not know, where that had come from. No one had said anything about Starbase.

The dreams of a desperate, young man.

 

He was there at 8 p.m..

And so was Mitchell.

And five other guys.

They ambushed him, wrestling him down with ease and securing him all over. Jim was being hauled into a hovercar and driven away. His stupor was too deep for him to really be afraid of what was going to happen next.

 

They brought him into Kodos’ tower. His eyebrows shot up at that and he felt a little of his apathy crack open. What was going on here? He was shoved into an elevator. Mitchell was grinning like it was his birthday.

When they stepped out of it, they were in a large hall. The man sitting behind a desk was Kodos – Jim knew him from several posters that were strewn throughout the settlement.

The hated man looked up, surveying the two newcomers.

“Is that him?”

“Yep! He’s perfect.”

“He’s certainly the right age. And quite pretty too.”

Kodos stood up and got around the desk. He inspected Jim intently. Jim could say nothing – he was gagged. His apathy was cracking open more and more and his old stubbornness was rearing its head. He started to struggle slightly against his restraints.

Kodos grinned like a shark.

“I’ll contact K’troll. He can have a look at him via intercom.”

Jim went deathly still at that. Via intercom? They were not cut off from the rest of the universe? Was Kodos deliberately starving them all out?!

White hot hate and anger flooded him, causing his apathy and depression to fall away like the used skin of a snake. His muscles tensed and he wanted to charge against the other man, but Mitchell held him securely and laughed out loud.

“Well look at that! The lion has claws after all! Welcome back to the real world, kiddo. You’ll be experiencing just how real it can get.”

 

Jim was jolted out of his sleep. He was flailing in disorientation and inarticulate noises rose from his throat; he still thought he had a gag in his mouth and was unable to scream.

Overly warm arms closed around him like steel bars.

“Please don’t exert yourself, James. You are still week. Sleep a little more,” came a deep baritone voice that flooded throughout his being like balm. He swallowed a few times. His throat was dry.

He was angled upwards and a glass was brought to his lips. Jim drank greedily the liquid.

“Sleep now.”

“Spock...” It was half moan, half sob. He thought his voice sounded like the voice of a fifteen year old child.

“You only had a nightmare, James. It’s not real. I am here – I’ll make sure of it.”

“A nightmare... it’s not real...” the human mumbled, while he turned his aching body to the side, curling in on himself and placing his head in Spock’s lap.

It was a rare display of weakness, but right now he needed it desperately.

He needed some semblance of affection. He needed it more like the water that was sitting like a cold stone in his belly right now.

When an overly warm hand hesitantly stroked across his brow, a tight sob escaped his throat. It took him a little while to fall back to sleep.


	7. Chapter 5: Nothing's for free, kiddo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Warning: Swearing

When McCoy entered Vargaz’ office he let the breath that he had been holding rush out of him – at least the guy wasn’t smoking Ruby right now. In fact, he was sitting behind his desk, talking into the communciation’s device sitting there, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“So when will I be able to expect it?” he asked, tipping his fingers on the surface of the desk in annoyance.

He glanced upwards at McCoy’s entrance and impatiently waved the man further inside. The Doctor slowly stepped closer, putting his bag on one of the chairs and chancing a glance to his right, where Banta was standing at the wall, an insufferably smug expression on his face. It looked devious paired with his one eye swollen shut.

“Hmpf... About next week? The chip is no problem – they’re commonly used on cattle and some such. But the other thing has to be especially built, ya know,” came now the drawled voice out of the device. McCoy’s eyebrows drew together and he shot Banta another look. The grin on the Triptochid’s face got – if possible – even bigger and nastier and he nodded conspiratorial towards the Doctor, as if he knew what was going on.

Vargaz groaned and rubbed across his eyes.

“See that you get it done as early as possible. I need the things.”

“Heh... trouble with your stallions?”

Vargaz’ eyes darkened and he snorted slightly.

“Something like that...” he murmured and asked with an air of obvious reluctance, “How much will it cost?”

“I reckon five hundred credits’ll do,” came the contemplating reply and Vargaz let his closed fist fall onto the surface of the table with such force that even McCoy almost jumped.

“What? That’s preposterous! It’s only a bunch of metal!” he hissed enraged into the device. The man on the other end didn’t let himself be intimidated.

“Yeah, but – you know. It’s a custom-built model.”

There was a short silence in which Vargaz seethed with fletched teeth, before the man continued, sounding decidedly smug and sly, “But I heard your beasts are a bunch of winners – even if they are a fucking mess. They’ll get the credits back in for ya in no time.”

Vargaz clenched his teeth together and McCoy felt an icy shiver run down his spine when the man growled, “Oh they will... No doubt about that.”

“Well! Sounds like we have a deal. Send me the measurements and I’ll get to work and contact you when I’m finished.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks! It’s always a pleasure to make deals with you, Mr. Vargaz,” came the cheeky voice out of the device. Vargaz punched with unnecessary force the button that would disconnect the call and muttered, “Yeah, yeah... bite me, jackass.”

He then looked up towards McCoy and gave him a short once-over before he sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together in front of his stomach.

“Well? Did you work your magic, Doctor?” he demanded at last.

McCoy swallowed and straightened slightly. He needed to play his cards well.

“I did what I could for the moment. I did not have the necessary devices for everything that should’ve been done. What have you been doing with the guy?” he asked, throwing Banta a nasty look. However, Vargaz drew the attention of the Doctor smoothly back towards himself.

“It has been an accident. No harm done.”

McCoy’s mouth slightly gaped open.

“No harm done? You have seen the guy, right?! He looked like Swiss cheese!” the Southerner exclaimed heatedly. Vargaz shrugged his shoulders negligently, although his dark, cold eyes were fixed on the Doctor like a predator would fix its prey.

“So what? He’s a slave, Doctor. He’ll have to get used to it,” and adding like an afterthought, “He’s operational again, right?”

McCoy’s hackles started to rise in the face of this blatant disregard of human rights and he had to bite the inside of his cheek in order not to explode right into Antonio Vargaz’ smug face.

“Hardly. He needs rest for now and they both need nourishment. And clothes,” McCoy said with forced calm.

“Hm... But tomorrow they’ll be ready?” he said contemplating. McCoy’s gut twisted and he fisted his hands into the sides of his trousers as unobtrusively as possible.

“Depends. Ready for what?” he croaked at last with a hoarse voice.

“Ah... nothing major. A little farm work. It’ll do them good to stretch their muscles, yes?” a rare, sly grin stretched Vargaz’ face.

The Doctor was distrustful. This sounded too... mundane. There had to be a catch.

“Just farm work?”

Vargaz’ smile vanished and he raised one eyebrow slowly in reprimand.

“Do I have to check with you, how I want to treat my property, Doctor?” he asked calmly but with a distinct coldness to his voice. McCoy pressed his lips together into a narrow line and turned his head slightly away, before he practically blurted, “I want to examine them tomorrow evening. You wanted them thoroughly checked and I haven’t had the opportunity yet. Until I have given the OK they can’t be sent out to the field.”

Vargaz slightly tilted his head and gazed at McCoy in contemplation.

“You like ‘em, Doc?” he drawled at last. McCoy raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“You are awfully eager for them. You’ve never been so flustered on my part,” he said.

McCoy let his closed fist fall down heavily on the backrest of the chair that was standing in front of him.

“I am concerned for them just as every person with a conscience would be!” he spat; he felt the tendons in his neck strain outward and an angered blush suffuse his face. “And they haven’t been doing these things to themselves, now, have they? You, on the other hand, are willingly destroying your body.”

Vargaz gazed at him in contemplation but did not enquire further. He merely clasped his hands together on top of the desk and tilted his head in McCoy’s direction.

“Tomorrow evening it is, then, Doctor,” he said calmly. McCoy blinked a few times, before he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It seemed far too easy. But he would not jeopardize it by being stubborn.

“Well, all right... And remember what I said, they need – “

“Nourishment and clothes. Yes.”

Vargaz’ eyes seemed to penetrate him in a way that was quite disturbing. He nodded slowly and shot Banta another quick look. The Triptochid had a sly grin on his bald face that made the Doctor’s blood boil.

He nodded stiffly and turned around. Before he left, Vargaz said, “And please greet your family in my name, will you, Doctor?”

McCoy balled his hands into tight fists and gritted his teeth.

“Banta. Go with him and let your eye be healed.”

“Yes, boss.”

All the little hair on McCoy’s body rose in protest. He wanted to throw a fit and tell these two bastards that they could go to hell for all he cared – he would not heal the wound of that sick son of a bitch.

But then the picture of Jim and Spock in their destroyed room loomed in front of his eyes. What would happen to them, if he angered Vargaz in such a way that he looked for another Doctor?

So McCoy just went with the smug Triptochid and said nothing.

 

“You hot for them? They’re gorgeous aren’t they?” Banta growled with his gravelly voice while sitting on his bed. McCoy held a tricorder up to the face of the burly man and tried not to take a look around the ominously furnished room with the disturbing implements strewn about. He really did not want to have a closer look at them.

His gut twisted slightly at Banta’s words. He went for biting the tip of his tongue, desperately trying to hold his Georgia temperament at bay.

Banta was watching him intently and seemed to come to the conclusion that he wanted to prod the Doctor further. He continued, “Of course I haven’t seen what the Vulcan has to offer. Yet. But the human is exquisite indeed. Golden, perfect skin; that beautiful face. And he is stubborn, that one. His screams were delicious – but even more delicious was to witness his slow breakdown within my iron maiden.”

McCoy’s hands started to shake, while he fiddled with the different dials on the tricorder. Normally he would’ve used his hands by this point in order to lightly prod the skin around the eye and draw the swollen eyelids apart and check for any injuries to the eyeball. He did not do that this time. He did not want to touch the skin of the Triptochid. His chest seemed to expand drastically in his effort to just keep quiet.

Banta’s lips slowly stretched into a nasty grin. He saw the distress of the human. He enjoyed it immensely to watch the Doctor fight for his equilibrium. The man was way too soft and the business with the slaves seemed to bother him immensely. It was hilarious.

“Do you know the best part, Doctor?” he positively purred, while McCoy bent down and rummaged around his bag.

“The best part was when he pissed himself. That fucking proud bastard of a slave. Stubborn like ten men. And I reduced him to a quivering little girl, soaking his panties. Have you any idea how good it had been hearing him sob and beg? I can’t wait till I get my hands back on him...”

Yes, McCoy had an idea how good it must have been. He saw the twitching of Banta’s erection through the pants the Triptochid wore.

The Doctor righted himself; his back was ramrod straight. Without any further ado he slammed the hypo he had in his hand viciously into Banta’s neck and ejected the liquid into the Triptochid’s bloodstream. The bodyguard flinched at the sudden pain and hissed in agony.

“Couldn’t you have warned – “

He looked up. McCoy was gone.

 

Spock’s inner clock told him that 1.37 hours had passed since Jim had shortly jolted out of a nightmare and that it was now 1456. Spock was standing at the window, staring out over the vast lawn behind which he could see seemingly endless fields of yellow crops and green vegetables. There were a few humanoids dotted about, rummaging in crouched positions and doing their work – they had loose linen bags wrapped around their shoulders and Spock could see that the bag slowly but surely got fuller, so he suspected they were harvesting.

He was just about to wonder why they did not have any machines, when he heard the dry voice of his companion coming from the direction of the bed.

“Spock. Come here.”

“Yes.”

The Vulcan turned around, making his way gingerly through the broken glass on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. Jim had rolled onto his side, the thin blanket still wrapped around his lower body, sparing his modesty. Hazel eyes were looking solemnly up to the Vulcan.

“I am hungry,” the human said silently. Spock only nodded. Yes – he required nourishment as well. It had been a long time since they last had something to eat and the Vulcan was slowly but surely getting worried about his human companion. Jim was an exceptionally strong creature – but nevertheless he seemed way too fragile for a being as strong as a Vulcan.

“I hate being hungry, Spock,” Jim continued, turning on his back and staring at the ceiling. The light washed over his tanned face and Spock felt inexplicably nervous, when he saw how worn and tired the usually energetic man looked.

There were things in this universe that were simply a constant – creatures that sought to dominate other creatures; nourishment that was needed in order to function; and James T. Kirk was a stubborn and yet highly intelligent man that simply refused to get beaten down by anything.

To see him this... defeated was strangely disquieting. Spock said nothing, though, and James continued, “I had a dream earlier. Probably because I am so hungry. I dreamt about my past, Spock. I dreamt about what I want from life and what I do not want.”

Jim said abruptly up and turned fiercely shining eyes towards his companion. The alien leaned slightly backwards in surprise. Jim’s arms shot out and he seized the shoulders of his ever present companion.

“I want to go to Starfleet. I want to travel into space and be the Captain of a ship. And I am willing to do everything to achieve this. I won’t let them stop me, Spock and they –“

“Are you even willing to serve another master and wait for the right moment, Jim?” Spock asked silently, interrupting the enthusiasm of his friend quite abruptly. It was heartening to see the light back in those exotic eyes, but nonetheless – Spock always was the voice of reason. He simply could not dwell as thoroughly in daydreams as Jim.

The human seemed – interestingly enough – to simultaneously shrink and swell. His face fell in itself, while his thick muscles constricted.

“I won’t be a slave anymore, Spock.”

“You make a really poor slave. Master K’troll always was angry with you,” Spock agreed. Jim’s lips narrowed.

“Don’t call him that.”

Spock turned away in the face of the fierce light in his friend’s face.

“It really seems a bit contradictory – considering that I already have called another man my Master...” murmured the Vulcan and suddenly his shoulder was gripped and he was harshly turned around.

Cool, strong, calloused human hands gripped his face and intense hazel eyes bored themselves into soft brown ones.

“I tell you what, now, Spock. I will try and comply with them. At the moment we simply have no other choice. But I want you to know something – we are not their slaves. We are their prisoners; nothing less and nothing more. You will have to come to terms with the fact that you will soon have no master but yourself to answer to. They may possess our bodies at the moment but they will never possess our minds. You and I – we hang in there together. We will walk out here together. And we will travel into the universe – together. Do you understand me, you petty excuse for a Vulcan?! Damn it, I saw you brake a man’s wrist only because he touched me rough. I can’t stand it, when you placidly let everyone else handle you like garbage! You are the most intelligent man... alien... whatever, that I ever met and you decide to let them beat you into submission?! Fuck you, Spock.”

And suddenly silky, cool lips were pressed insistently against his own, rubbing with sheer sensuality that made all the little hair on his body rise. Spock shuddered slightly – something in his ever contemplating brain seemed to have flipped a switch for there was for the first time in a very long time no thinking and analysing and fretting.

Jim’s harsh voice and words still echoed in his ears. They were in clear contradiction to the thumbs that had unconsciously rubbed across high, austere Vulcan cheekbones.

There lips fitted together perfectly. They always did. But this time... this time...

The soft sliding of skin on skin ended with a delicious pull from pale pink lips on the full lower lip of the Vulcan. Spock had not closed his eyes one second and when Jim opened his, gazing into the dark, soft depths that were looking at him in open curiosity, Spock’s dark voice whispered, “You... kissed me. Of your own will?”

A slight embarrassed flush suffused Jim’s face. It made his features all the more soft. The human opened his lips to answer, but they were interrupted from a jeering voice, “Well if that isn’t a sight for sore eyes... Very nice. Very, very nice.”

Their heads snapped around, but even before they could process the sight of Banta in the doorway, behind him a maid with a trolley full of dishes that were concealed under food covers, Jim’s body was tensing unimaginably.

“What do you want?!” he hissed, hands balling into fists at his side. Spock reached out surreptitiously, placing one of his hands on Jim’s knee, willing him to remain calm in the face of the burly man.

Banta’s three eyes did not miss the movement. They were fixating the place where the two touched for a brief second, before sliding back up to their faces. A grin spread his lips.

“Well. You are not broken, after all. What an extraordinary specimen,” he crooned before stepping to the side and motioning for the maid to enter.

“The boss sent me to bring you food and clothes,” he said, throwing a contemplating look to Spock.

“You!” he barked, pointing with a finger at the alien. Spock slowly stood from his place on the bed. His face was impassive and stony, his eyes sheer dark pools of nothingness.

“Yes?”

“How’d you get the shirt over your head when you are shackled?” the Triptochid threw a glance down to Spock’s chains. The Vulcan slowly clasped his hands together.

Jim could see from the proximity their slight trembling. Spock hated these chains; and he hated to be reminded of them. Not that the Vulcan had ever said so – but Jim knew from experience how... explosive Spock could be, if the right buttons were pushed.

However, the dark baritone voice was perfectly placid when he answered, “My former master possessed a special key that would loosen the chains. I would think that it has been given to Master Vargaz.”

Jim hated hearing Spock speak such words. He simply could not understand that this highly intelligent being would freely and without objections submit himself to people they never before had seen.

But then again, Jim knew next to nothing of Spock’s life before he himself had come to K’troll. When he had asked him one day how long he had been in his service, Spock had merely answered, “Long.”

The simple fact that he hadn’t given an exact time length had been enough to shut the human up and not pry any further into business that wasn’t his.

Banta grunted and nodded.

“I will ask him. And I will come back in about five hours and collect you. The boss wants to have a word with the two of you.”

With that he threw Jim and Spock one last glance and was gone, ushering the maid in front of him.

The two men were silent for a few seconds before Jim silently said, “I hate it, when you do that.”

“I know. But it is necessary, Jim. You’ll have to accept it.”

“Never.”

 

They were mostly silent during their five hour wait. They ate the food which was exceptionally delicious and they cleaned themselves of the dirt and grime of the past days.

They have been given identical sets of clothes – loose, dark linen trousers that looked almost oriental and loose button down shirts. Vargaz could obviously not be bothered to find out their actual sizes, so the trousers were a tad to long for James and a litte too wide for Spock, but they dressed without complain

Spock kept on his old shirt due to the fact that he could not remove it without damaging the fabric which he was reluctant to do.

The two men were prowling the room or sitting on the bed in alternation; only now and again one of them said something; a monosyllable or a short sentence.

They had been together for far too long to really need any words. Both knew what they had to do, after all.

And both were still contemplating the short yet sweet kiss they had shared.

 

In his lunch time at the hospital McCoy sat down at his computer and let his sandwich sit in his bag in favour of scanning data banks. He was preparing himself for a long search that would most likely remain futile – he only had one and a half hours and he wasn’t the best when it came to dealing with computers, but the issue simply would not leave his mind and he had to at least try.

Maybe he could unearth something in the course of the next couple of days.

He sighed deeply, ignored his growling stomach and wriggled his cold fingers a few times, before he punched in ‘Tal-tor’ into the search engine of one of the newscast stations.

He winced slightly, when the screen was immediately filled with article after article. A deep sigh escaped his lungs and he rubbed across the back of his nose.

“Great. Really great,” he groused and let his hand fall back on the surface of his bright, shining desk with a resounding smack.

“This will take a long time,” he murmured, while he leaned towards the screen and started reading.

Only seconds later his mouth fell open in dumb astonishment.

 

When Banta came in order to take them to Vargaz, Jim did not rise to the taunting, leering baits of the Triptochid. Spock could see the tense set of broad shoulders and hear the slight quickening of breath, though. The human would never admit to it but he had a certain... ah... respect for the Triptochid since their last encounter. He kept a healthy distance to him at all times.

However, Jim was perpetually walking in the line of sight of the bodyguard, drawing most of the time two of the three eyes to himself so Spock could surreptitiously look around and commit every last scrap of information from the layout of the mansion to his memory.

One should always know the exact properties of their surroundings.

 

Banta opened the door to the office and they were immediately assaulted with a scream of, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! I bought them, Vargaz! I bought them before you!”

Jim threw Spock a slightly puzzled look. The Vulcan remained impassive, his shoulders twitching minutely upwards in an understated shrug.

A grunt from the bodyguard caused the two men to quickly step inside and look around surreptitiously. They stood right next to each other; close enough that their elbows almost touched. Spock had his hands clasped solemnly in front of his stomach.

There was no one in the room except for Vargaz but the way the man leaned over his desk with an intense expression of unholy glee was an indicator that he was probably talking to someone through the communication’s device in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Tikata. First come, first serve, eh? You bought the Crep’ka stallion right from under my nose and I had to smile and take it. Well… Now you know that I do not take kindly to being duped.”

“Vargaz, you slimy little… I will get back to you for this. You will eat your words and I will –“

Vargaz had caught sight of them and clapped in his hands.

“Aaahhh… there are my new little slaves. Oh, but they are exquisite. You really have excellent taste, my dear Tikata. What a shame that they are with me, eh? Well… have to go now! They need a little… discipline,” Vargaz positively cooed through the connection.

Jim threw a sideways glance towards Spock and saw the tips of the delicately pointed ears flush a light green when this other guy – Tikata – started swearing in a language that they both did not recognize; the meaning of the words was painfully obvious, though, through the hard, fast staccato of the pronunciation.

Vargaz cut the line and looked decidedly smug. He surveyed the two individuals in front of him, ignoring Banta, who stepped away to the side.

“Well. That was that,” he said, standing from his chair and slowly walking around his desk. His dark eyes raked across two bodies that could not be more different; tall and slender against stocky and muscular – and yet both pleasing to the eye.

“We had a rough start. I have to admit that I was a little… surprised over the way you two acted. One would think that K’troll had his slaves better trained.”

They did not say anything to that. A pair of brown and a pair of hazel eyes were fixed solemnly upon Vargaz who leaned against the edge of the table and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Did you learn something from the happenings of yesterday?” he asked, his eyes slowly sliding away from Spock and fixing upon the human who visibly gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

Vargaz’ left eyebrow twitched minutely and the corners of his mouth curled a little upwards.

“We’ll test it, shall we?” he said and continued with delicate, devastating pronunciation, “Kneel down, slave.”

Spock snapped to attention, his lean body tense, while he kept his gaze stonily to the front. He felt the golden body of his companion start to positively vibrate in ire next to him and the fingers that were clasped in front of Spock’s body were beginning to claw at his own, green tinged skin without him really realizing it.

‘Just do it, Jim. Please…’ he thought, seeking for the fragile, nascent bond that was representing his connection with his friend.

He didn’t need to, though.

After an intense staring match of Vargaz and Jim, the human suddenly fell to his knees. The motion was swift but full of a grace that one almost would not have expected from the stocky man.

However, Jim held his head high and his shoulders defiantly straight, the thick muscles in his arms were shifting and quivering as if he was fighting with the urge to wrap his fingers around Vargaz’ neck and squeeze.

Spock was just about to minutely relax – feeling inexplicably proud of Jim – when his friend opened his mouth and spoke.

“Well? What now? Shall I call you Your Highness? Wipe your ass? Lick your shoes? What do you want from me? Feeling almighty and strong because you can shove people around that you do not even know?”

Jim’s voice was like poisoned honey, dripping mellifluous from his lips and standing between him and Vargaz like a wall.

The man remained silent, surveying the kneeling being for a while, before he stepped forward and stretched his leg, nudging with the tip of his boot against Jim’s knees.

“Spread them wider. Shoulder breadth.”

Hateful hazel eyes stared him right into the face, while Jim complied silently.

“Lower your eyes until I give you permission.”

A deep growl emanated from Jim’s throat. He lowered his gaze to the floor. His light brown eyebrows were drawn together in a stormy expression of reluctance.

“Hands on your thighs – palms up.”

Vargaz waited until the human kneeled just the way he wanted him to, then he began circling him in slow, measured steps.

His boots were thumping silently on the thick carpet that was spread over the floor and his eyes raked with detached curiosity over broad shoulders and a broad back. He had a contemplating gaze that made Spock slightly uneasy.

When Vargaz stretched his arm out and reached for Jim, the Vulcan involuntarily constricted his muscles, crouching ever so slightly, his shoulders hunching forward – ready to lunge if Vargaz hurt Jim.

However, the man simply petted the soft, golden hair and said, “Good slave.”

He could not have done something more hurtful to the proud, stubborn man – and Spock suspected that Vargaz knew that full well.

Jim seethed, his head snapping up and his eyes sparkling in his wrath, while his fingers curled into tight fists.

“You...” he growled. Vargaz’ hand shot forward, gripping Jim’s jaw with bruising force and slightly shaking the head of the man.

“Before you speak, I advise you that you think before you utter something that you will... regret later. I am in no mood for games and I could give you back to Banta, if I deem it necessary. And trust me – I won’t be sending for the good Doctor again,” Vargaz said, his voice low and silky, his eyes hard and penetrating.

Jim’s breath hitched, his eyes darting to the side where the Triptochid stood with a dark smile on his face.

The fight that broke loose inside the kneeling man upon this information was painfully obvious.

Vargaz waited patiently, his eyes glimmering with cold calculation while he anticipated the outcome of Jim’s turbulent thoughts.

When at last the young man breathed heavily out of his nose, slightly relaxing the tense posture of his body, Vargaz nodded sharply.

“Very well. You will watch your tongue in the future or else I will find a way to keep you silent. Do you understand?”

Jim stared at him all defiance and seething anger, while his hands were fisted into the loose fabric of his trousers. He nodded stiffly. Vargaz stretched his leg and nudged with the tip of his boot against the broad chest.

“Say it. And think about how you say it.”

Silence spread throughout the room. Spock slowly uncurled his body and finally drew his eyes away from Vargaz and Jim, only to land with his gaze on Banta. The Triptochid was staring directly at him and the Vulcan realized with a start that the alien probably had seen from the get-go the minute details in Spock’s body language that were telling from his preparation to fight for his friend.

The Vulcan didn’t like to admit to it, but he was more than disturbed by this.

‘We will have to watch him...’ he thought, lowering his gaze quickly back to his companion, who slowly parted his gritted teeth – it looked like quite the effort to do so – and said, “I have understood. Master.”

His voice broke on the last word ever so slightly. Vargaz grinned.

“Resume your correct position,” he said negligently, stepping back. He could’ve poked further at Jim and probably bring him to an explosion of dramatic scale but he obviously had decided to take this triumph and let Jim gnaw at it.

The human turned his hands so the palms were pointing upwards and lowered slowly his head.

“Good. Vulcan. On your knees.”

Spock’s motion was fluid and quick when he fell next to his friend on the carpet, mimicking the position and staring at the floor.

His sensitive ears could hear the sharply indrawn breath of Vargaz. The voice of the man was slightly husky, when it sounded next.

“Very good. Now. You two are new and obviously have no idea of how this is going to work,” Vargaz said while leaning again on the edge of the desk and crossing his arms in front of his chest, “and it is going to work. I’ll make sure of that.”

He paused, taking in the sight of the bowed heads.

Golden brown and coal black. Exotically pointed ear tips and delicately rounded ones.

His hands tightened on his own biceps and he cleared his throat.

“Tomorrow evening the Doctor will come and examine you two – like he should’ve done yesterday,” he continued after a moment, his voice getting a little sharper with the veiled reprimand at the end.

“That means you will have time until then to come to terms with your situation. After that I won’t allow any disobedience anymore. You will find that what had happened yesterday will be only foreplay against what I could and probably will do to you if you incite my wrath.”

Spock felt Jim stir restlessly next to him. He held his breath, dreading that his companion would say something, but Jim kept quiet.

“When the Doctor declares you both fit,” Vargaz continued and began to slowly round the two, “you will start working the day after tomorrow. Banta will guide you to your posts. The Vulcan will work in the fields and the human... will work in the stables with the Crep’ka.”

“What are Crep’ka?” Jim blurted out, while Spock simultaneously said, “We can’t be separated.”

Vargaz came to a halt in front of them, staring down upon the two. His eyes were like dark, unholy pits.

“You will do what I tell you to do. If you are not satisfied with the arrangement I can happily give you both separate rooms as well so you’ll never see each other again – my estate is large. It would be no hardship.”

Two heads were snapping up and two pairs of eyes were staring at him. One pair in utter hatred the other with disquieting seriousness.

Vargaz swallowed and had to force himself not to take a step back. He suddenly felt like a mouse being cornered by two big, hungry cats.

“Eyes to the floor!” he croaked.

They stared for another two tense seconds, exchanged a quick glance with one another that was totally enigmatic and then lowered their heads again. Vargaz’ heart slowly stopped beating so fast.

He could not wait until his special order, that he had made in the morning, arrived.

He continued speaking, “You will see what Crep’ka are soon enough.”

Vargaz took a deep breath and let it out slow and deliberately. He got his equilibrium back.

“These will be your tasks for the moment until I think of something new. It’s not so hard, now, is it? Even two dumb, little, disobedient slaves like you can handle that, yes?”

He waited for the human to explode, but Jim kneeled placidly on the floor. Vargaz’ eyes narrowed slightly.

“I asked you a question,” he hissed.

“Yes, Master,” they both said in near unison.

Vargaz tugged on his collar. He felt sweat springing up on his brow.

“Get them out of here, Banta,” he growled finally.

They stood up in fluid motions, their eyes still on the floor and yet... only when the door closed behind them and Vargaz was alone in the room, did he slightly slump back.

He carded one hand through his hair and exhaled forcefully.

He had bested them. He had brought that stubborn, strange blonde man onto his knees.

 

Then why did he have a feeling like he just unleashed hell upon himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the comments and kudos :)


	8. Interlude II: There are cries in the night that you try to ignore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Humiliation; Swearing; mention of psychological and physical torture

“That’s not their room,” McCoy said, when Banta came to a stand on the door right next to the one that was still blocked with a metal slate. The Triptochid turned the penetrating gaze of all three eyes upon the Doctor and said gruffly, “They destroyed their room – and while the boss could not be more indifferent about if they get their feet sliced open on all the debris, he has come to the conclusion that it would be wiser to give them a room where they have less things they could craft into weapons or tools.”

The hand on McCoy’s bag tightened simultaneously to his jaw and he gritted his teeth. Banta’s lips curled upwards into a condescending grin and he turned towards the door. He punched a code into the panel next to it and after he got a beep in response he dug out the key in his trousers while muttering, “You’d better not try open the door without someone letting you out. Ah... and here is the key to the Vulcan’s shackles.”

He extended his closed, meaty fist to McCoy who dubiously opened his own hand. Banta let a small, oval device fall into his palm and while he expected the electronic device, the Triptochid unlocked the door.

“Woah...!” McCoy exclaimed, when he found himself suddenly shoved forward into the room by the burly man. He immediately whirled around, righteous indignation in his craggy face.

“Who d’you think you are, you great, bald vulture? I won’t stand for being shoved – “

Banta shut the door into McCoy’s face.

“ – around.” He heaved a great sigh and shook his head. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“Hey, it’s Bones.”

McCoy turned quickly around. He did not need to survey the room – there was not much to see. Vargaz had obviously ordered someone to remove every bit of furniture except the bed. The room looked bleak and naked and dreary. The Vulcan had been standing at a window that looked identical to the one of their former room; minus the jagged hole. And Jim was sitting cross legged on the bed, his hazel eyes fixed upon the Doctor. His lips were stretched into a ready, attractive smile – his gaze, however, was cold and calculating.

McCoy shuddered slightly. He had not dealt with a lucid James since the other night, where he had helped the twitching, shivering man out of the box. He did not count the scant few minutes in which he had seen him after his session with Banta; he had not been exactly what one would call ‘sane’.

The Doctor got a strange feeling with this one. Where the Vulcan was, although obviously highly intelligent, rather subdued and willing to submit, Jim seemed way more ready to use his quick wit in ways that reminded McCoy of a predator. A shark, maybe. Or a lion.

Nonetheless, he would not let himself be intimidated. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

McCoy growled. “Because I said so?!”

“OOoooh. I see. Another Master, eh?” James taunted, while he slowly straightened his legs in front of him and swung them over the edge of the bed. One of McCoy’s eyebrows furrowed in distaste.

“Far from it. I think this whole matter is a big, steaming pile of...” he trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. Hazel eyes were watching him intently and full of distrust.

“You believe him, Spock?” he asked without turning his head around to the silent Vulcan at the window. He kept his gaze fixed upon McCoy, watching his every movement.

Spock slowly strode towards them, his hands clasped in front of his stomach.

“I have every cause to believe his intentions towards us are... benevolent. I would advise you to be a bit less waspish, Jim,” the Vulcan said with his dark, solemn voice, while he came to a stand at the foot of the bed. His brown eyes were fixed upon the Doctor as well.

“Good evening, Doctor McCoy,” he greeted, slightly tilting his head towards him, “So you managed to come back here.”

McCoy snorted slightly. He felt unbelievably nervous under the scrutiny of those strange young men and he tried valiantly not to show it.

“Yeah, I managed it. But I doubt that we will see each other again soon after tonight ... at least I hope we won’t see each other soon afterwards,” he said, while he gingerly sat his heavy bag down on the floor. He was moving slow – all too aware of fixing hazel eyes.

“Why’s that Bones? Don’t like to help, after all? It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” Jim said and rose at last from the bed. He was shorter than McCoy and yet the Doctor had the feeling his presence was enveloping the whole room with an ease that should not come so readily to such a young man.

He seemed to have an inherent streak of authority that was nearly irresistible.

The Southerner slowly drew his eyebrows upwards and scrutinized the man. He was wearing loose linen garments, that seemed just a little too long for his stocky frame, but he could not bring himself to grin derisively. Instead he narrowed his eyes and hissed, “No, I’d rather not be called too soon because that would mean that you’re injured again. And I brought a communication’s device that should enable you to get in contact with me; it is very primitive and I hope the signal will be strong enough to reach the settlement where I live, but I couldn’t risk anything more powerful, lest Vargaz’ sensors pick up on it. Therefore you should use it only in dire circumstances.”

And with that he threw a communicator towards them, which Jim was catching out of the air without really looking, his face suddenly not the hateful, distrusting mask anymore, but full sheer surprise and disbelief.

McCoy’s lips stretched into a grim but smug grin.

“Well? That shut you up, eh, kid?”

Jim lowered his gaze at the communicator and twisted his body towards Spock who turned as well. McCoy watched, while two pairs of hands – one pale and slender, the other broad and golden – gingerly handled the device with something akin to devotion.

After a minute-or-so dark eyes looked up and fixed with sparkling hazel. Their faces were intent and grave and McCoy had the feeling there was some kind of silent communication going on. Watching these two was like watching two wild animals of the same pack. He simply had not the silent language needed to understand them.

Curious.

Finally Jim let the communicator glide into the pocket of his trousers and turned towards McCoy.

“Okay. What do you want?”

The Doctor pointed towards his trousers.

“First of all I want that you find a suitable hiding spot for the thing. If Banta catches you with it you’re dead meat,” he said and continued heatedly when he saw stubborn indignation flare up in the young face, “He has three eyes and they’re not there for decoration purposes. He will see it, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid!” Jim hissed, while Spock solemnly bowed a little and reached without hesitation into his pocket to withdraw the communicator.

McCoy slowly grinned.

“Then don’t call me Bones,” he countered, while Spock turned around and strode out of the empty room into the bathroom. Jim curled his hands into fists and growled.

The two humans stood across from each other, challenge in their eyes.

“I won’t listen to you,” Jim said at last; he sounded unbelievably petulant – and McCoy suddenly was reminded that this extraordinary man was mere twenty years of age.

‘Has he been in slavery as long as Spock?’ he suddenly asked himself and his hard grin slowly vanished from his face. He just shrugged with his shoulders solemnly and abruptly changed the subject.

“I want to examine you two – to make sure that you’re not ill.”

Jim narrowed his eyes for a moment but when Spock came back – his hands empty this time – he nodded at last.

“Who wants to go first?” the Doctor asked, while crouching down, opening his bag.

 

“You’re astonishingly fit, considering that you were critically dehydrated and looked like a sponge, when I saw you yesterday,” McCoy declared at last, clapping one hand good naturedly on the strong, bare back of Jim, who was standing in front of him.

The man said nothing. He had not spoken much during the examination with the tricorder and the prodding and pulling of the capable surgeon hands.

Surprisingly enough, Spock had done most of the talking. He had been allowed by the Doctor to examine the bag and his eager questions were relentless and astonishingly in-depth.

Half way through his check of Jim’s vital organs he had turned towards the Vulcan crouching on the floor and shot him a look that was half exasperation and half annoyance.

“Why do you know so much?” he asked. Dark eyes shot up from where they were carefully handling a hypo.

“I have studied much.”

“Where?” Now McCoy was curious. Spock had been a slave since he was eight and said himself that he could not remember much from the time before. The Vulcan all of a sudden looked kind of shifty and gingerly replaced the hypo into the bag before curling and flexing his fingers as if they hurt.

The Doctor’s eyebrows drew slightly upwards and he nearly jumped when Jim said, “You finished, Bones? Gets a little cold standing half naked in the middle of the room...”

McCoy’s attention was back on Jim.

“You wish,” he said prodding with his finger a little more forceful than strictly necessary into Jim’s flank.

Spock had said not much after that but still perused with burning curiosity the contents of the bag.

Now Jim snatched the shirt he had lying on the bed and drew it over his head, while the Doctor turned to Spock.

“Well? Your turn.”

The Vulcan obediently stood up and stepped towards the man, an expectant look in the dark eyes, while the pale face remained impassive. They stared at one another for a moment, each seemingly waiting, until McCoy growled, “Get your shirt off.”

Spock raised his eyebrows, holding his arms up without a word. The chains were tinkling. McCoy felt his gut clench.

“Oh... right,” he murmured and dug in the pocket of his trousers for the electronic key. He was aware of a sudden mood shift in the room. Jim, who had been on his way to the bag in order to examine it himself, stopped dead in his track and two pairs of eyes zeroed in on the thing in McCoy’s hand.

The Doctor looked at it with a numb feeling, then raised his gaze. He was unprepared for the naked longing and desperation in the deep eyes of the creature in front of him.

His mouth went dry.

“I just... open the handcuffs and... the collar... shall I?” the Southerner said. He had to clear his throat a few times. Neither of the two said anything.

Jim was stepping up to Spock; right into the personal space of the Vulcan, who slowly drew his eyes away from the key and stared at his companion.

Again this silent communication. The little hair on McCoy’s neck were starting to stand on end; it was eerie to watch them.

He took a deep breath and while they both still seemed to be somehow immersed in each other, he reached for the restraints around Spock’s wrists, deftly pressing the electronic device against the little grooves in the smooth surface.

Two silent snaps and they were falling down, dangling on the chain that was attached to the metal collar.

McCoy held his breath, pressing the key to the last little groove. There was loud tinkling, when the whole, inhuman contraption fell to the ground between his and Spock’s feet.

“All right...” McCoy murmured into the awkward silence, clearing his throat and nodding slightly to himself.

“Now you can...” his voice trailed slowly off and his jaw went slack when he saw the skin underneath the concealing metal. The Doctor took a hasty step backwards, his breath rushing out of him in one long, shuddering exhale and his eyes bulging.

Spock’s lower neck was raw and had an unhealthy hue of green that the Doctor was sure indicated some form of infection. The patches of skin that were still closed were scar tissue. The same with the wrists.

‘By God, he has to be in constant pain...’ McCoy thought, his fingers slowly curling into fists. He could only stand and stare, while the Vulcan gazed stubbornly straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. Only the fluttering of his Adam’s apple gave an indication to the inner turmoil he had to be feeling.

“The... shirt,” McCoy ground out at last. Spock did not budge; his jaw was slightly trembling and McCoy had the feeling that he was currently doing the Vulcan equivalent of ‘chewing on his tongue’ – it was Jim who stepped behind his companion after a few seconds, running one soothing hand over the flank of his friend before gripping the lower hem of the simple linen garment Spock still wore from his arrival in Vargaz’ mansion and pulled the fabric with one fluid motion upwards and away.

McCoy had been steeling himself for more atrocities under the fabric, but... he could see nothing out of the ordinary; so why had Spock been so reluctant? The chest of the alien was covered in a thick, black pelt that looked astonishingly silky and he seemed to be in good shape, just as Jim.

McCoy grabbed the tricorder he had hanging around his neck, shaking his head in slight puzzlement. He was just about to step towards the Vulcan when Jim seized Spock’s shoulders from behind and turned the man around.

Startled, McCoy recoiled before he let the tricorder fall – it bounced against his stomach due to the strap around his neck.

“My God...” the Southerner whispered, his throat constricting and his breath leaving him seemingly for good.

What should have been a smooth expanse of skin and muscle was a battlefield of scars. Schooled Doctor’s eyes surveyed Spock’s back and he had a hard time finding an uninjured patch of skin. The scars were ranging from mint green to a deep verdant colour.

McCoy took a hesitant step closer, raising his hand and very carefully tracing a few of the scars. One or two were ropey and raised, others were so old that they were grown together with the rest of the skin and lay flat and shimmering across the bones of Spock’s shoulder blades. Others were practically engraved into the Vulcan flesh – they were all closed now but the knowing eye of the Doctor could discern that a few of them must have gone right down to the bone.

McCoy raised his eyes slowly and saw Jim looking intently at him past Spock’s left bicep. The corners of his mouth were downturned in an expression of grim sadness.

The Vulcan said nothing. He stood still and rigid like a statue – he seemed not even to breath.

“How did this happen? They’re so old... They’re so many...” Leonard croaked at last; he was unable to process it. Spock seemed to be a rather uncomplicated, gentle being – especially next to the fierce human he called friend.

Why, then, did the Vulcan’s flesh look like someone had doodled with a knife or... other implements... upon it, while Jim’s was still unblemished?

Upon his question, Spock’s breath suddenly rushed out of him and McCoy was not certain but he thought he heard something that sounded like a sigh.

 

.oOo.

 

“I don’t want to.”

Slanted eyebrows were furrowed in stubborn refusal and small hands were curled into tight fists while pale cheeks suffused with a faint green blush of anger.

K’troll gazed with narrowed eyes down upon the Vulcan child he had acquired about one month ago. It had taken one week for the creature to heal sufficiently the injuries from the shuttle crash despite the best attempts of K’troll’s physician; and since his new possession had opened its eyes it was nothing but a stubborn little splinter under his finger nail.

“I don’t care for what you want. You will play the harp for my guests.”

“No. They stare strangely at me. I feel uncomfortable,” Spock insisted, his high voice tight with the fear he desperately didn’t want to show.

K’troll’s lips curled derisively and his hand shot forward, gripping the black cap of hair and forcing Spock’s head backwards.

“You are a Vulcan, you stupid little brat. Of course they stare at you. Most of us have never seen something as you,” K’troll spat in his face. His blue eyes roamed over the face of the child, while his red skin took on an even deeper shade of angry purple; he saw the tight lines around the small mouth and the pupils that were blown wide. It was a sure sign that he was hurting Spock and as soon as the thought flitted through his head, the Vulcan began to struggle against the painful grip.

Even at the tender age of 8, Vulcan strength was nothing to scoff at.

K’troll hissed and released him, rubbing his forearm where one uncoordinated fist had hit him.

“You are lucky that you are so precious... or else I would teach you not to misbehave,” he growled with a low, menacing voice. Spock flinched backwards from him, though his eyes were shining with a fierce, determined light.

“Go to your room!” K’troll hissed. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his guests with a stubborn slave. Spock’s face suffused with a deeper green but he turned around and fled.

K’troll ground his teeth together, silently seething.

 

Spock was often curled into a tight ball under the blanket of his bed in these first few months. His room was small and not very suitable for a child. There were no toys or books or other things to take his mind off of this world that made absolutely no sense to him.

He had been without orientation upon his awakening and it had been most stressful for his struggling mind to suddenly be assaulted by K’troll’s many demands. Demands he was simply too overwhelmed with to fulfil.

Spock felt like one of those leaves he had carefully put upon the surface of the water in the pond at the back of the huge house – adrift and without a star to guide him. It was terrifying to suddenly just be somewhere; not able to remember anything prior except for the most mundane tasks.

The first couple of nights he had cried out of sheer desperation – he had not been able to make heads nor tails out of the strange places deep in his psyche that seemed jumbled and uncoordinated and K’troll was everything – just not understanding or patient.

He had cried until some strange instinct in himself seemed to slowly uncurl and unfold, telling him that it was against his nature to express his emotions this way.

So he had stopped crying after a few days – but it did not help all these confusing feelings in him. They were battering around his body like wild animals that sought to be set free and the only way he was able to cope with them was a feral, nearly primal reaction of aggression and stubbornness that broke out in the most inopportune moments.

“You can thank all the Gods that you are a precious Vulcan...” This phrase had branded quickly inside his head for K’troll would use it often. Very often.

 

When Spock had been in K’troll’s possession for half a year he made his mind up to flee and leave the alien that insisted on being called Master and the strange mansion behind him. He thought everything would be nicer than there.

So he stole a few of the apples out of the kitchen when no one was looking and in the night he bound his little bundle together and climbed out of the window and onto the tree branches that stretched towards it.

The Vulcan boy was shivering in the cool air of the night, but his determination was greater than the discomfort. He began to walk briskly towards the hedges that surrounded the mansion and got onto his hands and knees in front of them. He had never been outside the perimeters of the estate and his heart started beating fast in his side when he took the bundle between his teeth and started crawling through the branches.

They were scratching at his face and tugging at his clothes. He felt a few little leaves nestling in his hair and the boy started to grin around the fabric between his teeth – it was exciting!

His gleeful excitement, though, soon vanished when his hand crossed an invisible line that suddenly set sirens off that were blaring loudly.

Spock’s eyes widened in alarm and his slow, careful venture into the hedge suddenly became a mad, hectic scramble through the darkness.

The little branches were slapping against his face and he had to close his eyes in order to protect them. The crying of the sirens was ringing in his sensitive ears, adding to his disorientation. His breath came in harsh, little outbursts from around the gag in his mouth and he had half a mind to spit the bundle out and make his way without it.

When he suddenly broke free out of the hedge, his heart fluttered in triumph in his side.

‘I have made it! I am free!’ he thought with fierce glee, until his face collided with a solid object that was – from the feel of things – covered in fabric.

Spock’s mouth went dry and for a couple of seconds he simply refused to open his eyes and acknowledge what was in front of him until the sirens suddenly stopped crying and left him in utter, eerie silence. The Vulcan slowly opened his eyes. It was a bright night; two of the moons could be seen.

Spock gaze slowly travelled up two solid, dark clad legs until they met with the hard stare of one of the servants, whose hair still was tousled from sleep. The Vulcan could see the top of the alien’s pyjama under the jacket he had donned.

Spock slowly shook his head as if that would reveal the man to be only an illusion and wanted to scramble backwards but the alien was swift and seized him hard at his upper arm.

He was fighting with all his might against being dragged back to a raging K’troll but the servant was determined and way taller than the 8 year old.

 

K’troll had slapped him around – the hits had been stinging on his cheeks and the back of his head had been throbbing the rest of the night. The alien had brought out some long, leather implement that kind of looked like a rope, snapping it in front of the cowering Vulcan and howling, “You ungrateful little bastard! What kind of a Vulcan are you, anyway? You are so lucky that you are so rare, you damned little brat. You see this? This is my favourite whip. If you don’t cut this crap out I will use it on you – precious Vulcan blood be damned!”

 

Spock was not dumb – quite the opposite; he was highly intelligent. And he knew it. And he used it.

His Vulcan physiology made him highly susceptible to the feelings of others – even if he didn’t really knew why he had this ability – and it was no hardship to realize that he had no allies within the walls of K’troll’s mansion. They all disliked him; K’troll for him being so stubborn and insubordinate, the servants for him bringing them all into trouble.

He was stubborn and – at times – violent. And how could he not? He was a child of a deeply emotional race and without the proper knowledge that came with being carefully guided by his elders, he was reduced to ways akin to the feral, ancient ones before Surak’s time.

He was a little Vulcan boy adrift and confused amidst all his raging emotions; paired with his high intelligence it proofed to be quite volatile indeed.

K’troll was raging and spluttering and screaming – Spock let him. He even enjoyed it, for he knew something very important: K’troll was an avid collector and Spock was one of his collections. He was the precious, rare Vulcan. K’troll could wield his weapons and threaten him with them as long as he liked – Spock knew he would not risk damaging his precious possession.

 

It was at one night just after Spock’s tenth birthday – not that anyone had celebrated, but his inner clock was precise, he had found out – when the Vulcan sneaked once again out of his room. There were multiple locks in place not only in front of his door but also in front of his window – it never took the Vulcan long to figure out how to crack them, though.

He was walking through the dark hallways of the mansion, not touching anything for fear he would set off the alarm again and just silently contemplated what his life was. He came to the conclusion that it was strange. And that he was not sure whether he liked it or not.

He came to an abrupt halt, when his nose got a whiff of something. It smelled old and dusty and utterly... familiar. Something inside him exploded with a sudden, fierce yearning and made the sensitive pads of his fingers tingle in excitement.

Spock’s mouth went dry and he turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air like an animal, hoping to get another whiff of this... something. Until he saw the door that was slightly ajar and cautiously stepped towards it. A high, needy sound was escaping his throat, when the child cautiously pushed the unfamiliar door further open and peeked inside – just to have an epiphany that nearly brought him down onto his knees.

He had to grab the knob on the door with both hands, clutching at it in order not to fall due to his suddenly wobbly legs, while his chest heaved so profusely that he nearly hyperventilated.

Books. There were books! He hadn’t even seen a book since he came to K’troll’s estate two years ago. And there were so, so many... the room was huge and stuffed from floor to ceiling with old, precious paper back books that ripped another needy whimper out of the Vulcan.

Spock slowly uncurled his fingers from the knob and stumbled towards them. He thought he might have died and gone to heaven.

 

When the servants found him after a frantic search through the mansion, he was sitting cross legged on the floor, one book open on his lap, his small fingers eagerly stroking the pages in a loving caress, while his eyes flew across the words – his brain, starved for input and work lapped every single word up like it was ambrosia.

He was torn away from this quiet, peaceful haven and a strangled cry of indignation ripped from his throat. He began to fight against them and it slowly became prudent that he had to be handled by two of the male servants – his strength rapidly was becoming a factor that promised to bring about even more trouble.

God, they hated this little, Vulcan devil.

And K’troll was swatting him about again, raging with hard words and even harder fists – Spock did not even feel it. His mind was still back in that heavenly place... that Oasis, he had found. And when K’troll screamed, “What do I have to do to get you to finally behave?!” something clicked and Spock looked up from under arms that were crossed protectively over his head.

“Give me the books.”

K’troll blinked and his fist stilled in mid-air. His skin was mottled with unbecoming dark red spots and he was breathing harshly with the exertion – he wasn’t that young anymore, after all.

“What?” he asked dumbly. The Vulcan very slowly and very carefully uncurled from his position on the floor. He was kneeling in front of K’troll and looked more docile than he ever had in the possession of the alien.

“Give me books and I will behave – I will do everything you wish me to do. Only give them to me, please!” the child begged, his hands coming up and clasping together in front of him, his eyes big and beseeching.

K’troll’s gaze became calculating. The little brat was cheeky and devious. It would not do to just trust him – he had been scheming behind his back since he had first tried to flee from his Master. Given – they were the schemes of a little child that did know near to nothing, but in the course of these two years K’troll had noticed how rapidly Spock was learning and adapting; if he chose to do so.

Their constant prowling around one another; trying to outdo one another – it was tiring for the alien.

He slowly clasped his hands in front of his belly, studying the Vulcan child and decided to play the game for the time being.

“You will get rewards in the form of books, if you behave,” K’troll said slowly and deliberately, watching every nuance on the young, pleading face.

A smile spread across Spock’s features that was seldom seen and his high voice squeaked, “Thank you! Thank you... Master.”

A slow, pleased grin stretched K’troll’s lips. Spock never called him that – not on his own, free will. Maybe there was hope after all.

 

It was like a button had been pushed.

Even two years after this fateful early morning K’troll was still marvelling over his good fortune. It was so easy... It was like training a dog! Not that he ever said so in front of the child; if Spock wanted he could still be a stubborn, insubordinate son of a bitch. But most of the time he was rather... sweet.

The formula was always the same: Tell the Vulcan to do something. If he did it, he had the privilege to collect one of the books out of K’trolls library – he never used it, he only had it so he could say he had it – and if he didn’t do it or was cheeky, he didn’t get any.

The times in which Spock misbehaved or flat out refused to do something grew far and large in-between. He became balanced and calm, eager to please his master with various tasks only so he could go at the end of the day into the vast library and choose one of the books.

K’troll was no idiot – he observed keenly which writings Spock chose. It would not do for the child to get even more dangerous thoughts in his head than was strictly necessary.

It did not surprise the alien much to see that Spock went with the unerring precision of a heat seeking missile towards all the books containing information about Vulcans. The time in which Spock found a little section filled with original Vulcan writings, tucked away in one of the corners of the library, was one of the most amusing for the alien.

The child was so eager to please his master, just so he could get his fingers on these books, that he positively started rubbing up to his legs like a cat. He was sneaking around K’troll, dark, intelligent eyes fixed avidly upon him, waiting for any order he could get.

Finally K’troll could start showing his precious, little Vulcan to others. There were often nights in which Spock sat upon a cushion in the back of one of the large dining halls, playing the Vulcan harp K’troll had acquired for him.

They were all fascinated by the exotic alien and the strange music he produced and K’troll marvelled in their envy and the many offers he got for Spock. But he would never release him. He was his possession – his rare, extraordinary Vulcan.

 

Spock read about Vulcans. His hands were shaking ever so slightly every time he opened a new book that held any information for him about his ancestry.

They told him so much... So many things he had been fretting over the last two years were suddenly being – well, not exactly explained, but there were enough passages alluding to one thing or another for him and his vast intellect to make the needed conclusions for himself. He tried himself at the mental techniques he read about and found that they had been inside the recesses of his mind all along – just waiting to be finally used again.

The way he had to degrade himself in order to gain this knowledge was a small price to pay – or so he thought at the beginning. The older he got, however, the more ashamed he was of himself. He had learned a lot about his people – he was yearning for Vulcan; that mysterious desert planet he only had vague memories off. He fantasised about other Vulcans. People like him... And when he thought about them he thought about what they would be thinking about him if they knew how he grovelled at K’troll’s feet.

In these instances he always buried his face that was heating in shame in his pillow.

This came to a stop, however, one night when he was 12.65 years old. He was sitting on a plush cushion on the floor, playing his Vulcan harp, while a fire from behind warmed his back. He wore a traditional Vulcan robe K’troll had acquired for him. He was aware of the fact how exotically enticing he was looking for his Master’s guests. They said so often, after all.

It was when he started his last song – he was getting very tired and K’troll didn’t like him to play when he was half asleep, because he did too many mistakes – when he heard one of the other red skinned men talk to his master a few feet away.

His pointed, sensitive ears pricked slightly up; there still was a rebel in him, after all.

“One night, K’troll. I’ll give him back to you safe and sound,” the man was saying.

“No. He is not to be touched.”

“I’ll pay you handsomely!”

“No! He is precious – what if you somehow damage him?” K’troll hissed.

Spock’s play got a little slower, his mind racing. What were they talking about? That the conversation revolved around him was quite obvious. But what did the other man want him for? Did he want a slave?

“I won’t damage him. I’ll try that he even likes it,” the other man was saying just now. Spock felt uneasy. A wave of dread was slowly spreading throughout his body and he clamped ruthlessly down upon it. He was a little proud of himself that nothing was shown on his face.

He did not know what they were talking about, but his instincts were never at fault and he had the feeling that – despite the man’s claims – he really would not enjoy whatever he wanted to do to him.

“No. Don’t ask again. I don’t share my possessions,” K’troll said. It sounded final.

Spock relaxed and let a long, careful breath out.

He felt utter gratitude towards K’troll in that moment.

After that, he was servicing the alien with a little more enthusiasm.

 

Only a couple of weeks later everything shifted dramatically.

Spock got ill – it was the first time, that he did so. It was a rather disquieting experience. He was lying in his bed, his already hot skin pitched to a heat that easily permeated the room and made it stuffy and unpleasant to occupy it. The fact that he could not sweat made this whole ordeal so much more difficult. The servants had to cool him constantly with wet cloth so he would not overheat.

He was coughing profusely and his head was pounding painfully.

K’troll was nervous. He didn’t want to loose his most priced possession, after all. So he sent for the most famous Doctor in the city, although it was in the middle of the night and profusely raining. K’troll was offering enough credits – he had to buy his silence over owning a slave, after all –for the old guy to more than willingly come to his mansion and look after the young patient.

When the Doctor left the room of the ill Vulcan after an hour and was led inside K’troll’s bureau, he took his glasses from his nose and started cleaning them at his shirt.

“Well?” K’troll said anxiously.

The Doctor shook his head.

“Nothing major. Just a common flu that is wreaking a little more havoc on him than it would be the norm. I gave him some potent medicine and he is already quirking up quite a bit,” the man said, while placing the glasses back on his nose and swiping the credit chips on top of K’troll’s desk into his bag.

The other alien huffed slightly, deflating in his chair and wiping with one hand over his forehead in relief.

“Good. Very, very good. I almost thought he’d bite the dust,” he sighed and then muttered, “Strange. I thought Vulcans were immune to most of those illnesses.”

The Doctor looked up from where he was closing his bag and said distractedly, “Hm? Oh, yes, yes. They’re quite resilient. But he is no full-blooded Vulcan, now, is he? He’s at least a half human. Never heard of something like that; quite interesting. I guess you’ll never stop learning. Ah, well. I’m off now. My bed is calling for me.”

The old guy waved negligently and hobbled on one lame foot out of the room.

He did not see the way K’troll’s face went utterly slack in surprise and then writhed into a murderous mask of wrath.

 

“Master! I did not know! I swear, I did not know!” Spock was screaming. He was lying bound across a low platform and was struggling against the restraints they had put upon him. His head was still pounding and his skin felt hot and ready to burst open.

Only minutes prior K’troll had stormed into his room, seized him at the scruff of his neck and dragged the disoriented, confused youth out of it, while screaming, “You devious little bastard! You thought you’d get away with that? To mock me and let me think I had a rare, full-blooded Vulcan, whereas you are a dirty, stinking little hybrid?!”

He had dragged the young Vulcan through the hallways to a part of the mansion Spock had never seen before. He was still trying to scramble to his feet while ignoring the heavy pounding in his head, when K’troll had thrown him across the same low platform he was now lying upon and pleading for the alien to understand him.

He had not known, that he was no full-blooded Vulcan.

‘Dirty, stinking little hybrid!’ K’troll’s words echoed in his pointed ears. His mouth went dry as if he had swallowed a hand full of sand.

K’troll was standing behind him. His whole body was positively vibrating in his rage and when he screamed again, spit was flying from his lips.

“I spent years stuffing money up your scrawny ass because I thought you were Vulcan!”

“But I am! I am!” Spock cried – there were no mental disciplines against the utter horror and panic flooding through him. He was way too young to be able to clamp down on those most volatile emotions. He was squirming on the platform.

“The hell you are! You are a mutt! You are an abomination of nature! To think of all the times I let you act up against me and mock me – they’re gone, slave. You will listen; and you will serve. There will be no more negligence from me. And there will be no more books!”

Spock’s eyes went wide.

“NO!” he screamed. He had to be in a nightmare. He had to!

And then K’troll brought down the whip and only his screams were heard for a long time.

The servants eavesdropping outside the room grinned at each other.

The screams of his unruly charge were like music to K’troll’s ears. He was watching with manic glee as the vulnerable, smooth flesh burst open beneath the rough strikes of his whip. How long had he yearned to do this... To finally beat the much needed respect into Spock.

Oh he would enjoy making him suffer for his treachery...

 

Spock was starting to fight again; he fought with all his might against everything K’troll said or did.

Until they brought the chains.

They had to wrestled him down before the cold, unyielding metal could be snapped around his neck and wrists, but once in place it wouldn’t even give way under his most fierce tugging.

He was bound like a dog in the basement of the mansion, savagely beaten by K’troll until even the last of his resistance started to slowly melt out of him.

When K’troll drew a sharp blade through the bloody mess that formerly had been a canvas of innocent, pale skin, eliciting not more than a defeated whimper and pathetic shivering from the soulless creature on the floor, he knew that he had finally – finally! – broken him.

 

For weeks Spock was only allowed to crawl on all fours through the hallways of the mansion. His chains were too short for him to really use his strength effectively against whatever the other inhabitants of the estate did to him. He was in hell and there was no light signalling that it would eventually come to an end.

 

Time begun to wear at him.

He started to become placid.

 

After three years K’troll had him at a point where Spock was simply only obeying and not thinking any longer. His brain was starved for knowledge and that was the best – the safest – way to deal with it.

K’troll watched him grow up and the Vulcan started to see a strange light glimmering in his pale blue eyes. It would have been disturbing had he been able to feel anything anymore.

 

When Spock was eighteen he was summoned into K’troll’s office. He immediately went there. He didn’t want a lashing like he had the night before; his shirt was clinging to his wet, raw back and large spots of emerald blood could be seen upon it.

He entered the room with his head bowed submissively.

“Master...” he whispered.

“I bought you a companion,” K’troll said.

Spock looked up and saw a young man standing in front of him. He had his wrists bound in front of his body and there was a gag in his mouth. Wild, golden hair was on top of his head and the eyes, that were blinking fiercely into the room, were of the most extraordinary hazel colour Spock had ever seen.

He was dumbfounded at suddenly standing across someone of his age. It had been ten years since he last seen someone this young.

Spock was speechless.

“Say hello to Jim. He is going to be your playmate,” K’troll murmured with a most disturbing light in his eyes.

“You will be his... big brother, so to say. You will educate him and you will take his punishment if he misbehaves. Did you understand me?”

“Yes, Master,” Spock said, his eyes not leaving this Jim. He saw the same stubborn pride in the human as he himself had wielded on his arrival in K’troll’s mansion.

He had a sinking feeling.

 

.oOo.

 

‘How could this happen?’ McCoy’s question still hung heavy and laden with disbelief thick in the air. Spock was slowly clasping his hands in front of his stomach.

“I am a disgrace to my Master and my people,” he said. His deep voice was low.

Jim made a jerking motion, his face suffused with anger and disgust.

“Don’t say something like that!” he hissed to Spock, gripping his upper arm fiercely. The Vulcan only lowered his head.

“Would you please continue with your examination, Doctor?” he asked.

McCoy brought his tricorder up. He did not say anything regarding the unusual readings he got.

After all, he did already know that Spock was half human. He knew, in fact, a lot of Spock from his research in the computer library.

He had debated with himself if he should share his findings with the alien but upon seeing his blank face, the skin gray and unhealthy in his effort to keep his emotions at bay during the examination, McCoy decided not to say anything.

He injected Spock something against infections and let the dermal regenerator try his best with the raw flesh on neck and wrists of the silent man.

“You are both as healthy as you can be under the circumstances. Vargaz will sent you unto the fields tomorrow,” McCoy said. His Southern drawl almost nonexistent.

While Spock donned the new shirt he had been given, Jim nodded solemnly.

“We know.”

McCoy gritted his teeth.

“I wish I could do more,” he said fiercely, curling his hand into a fist and staring at the floor. A calloused, golden hand stretched out and laid itself upon McCoy’s fist. The Doctor’s head snapped up in surprise and he looked at the other human curiously.

“You have done enough already, Bones. We are very thankful,” Jim said with uncharacteristic gravity. McCoy sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll work on a solution. I promise.”

He bowed down, hesitated but then took the chains from the floor and went over to Spock. The man was standing tall and silent, his dark eyes oddly vulnerable while they stared brokenly upon his ever present torment.

“I am sorry... So sorry,” McCoy sighed, when he let the shackles snap once more around neck and wrists of the silent alien.

It sounded final in the stillness of the room.

“I know,” Spock said at last, the corners of his mouth twitching downward minutely.


	9. Chapter 6: And can you save me from myself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Warnings: Swearing, violence

They were lying on the bed; bodies intimately pressed together and hands clutching at rough linen garments. It was silent in the room. Not even their breathing was to be heard, for it was slow and even and their eyes were closed as if they were sleeping – which would have been plausible; the moon was already high in the sky.

They hadn’t said much after the departure of McCoy. Jim had asked to see the communication’s device again and Spock silently had brought it out from its hiding place where it was carefully tucked under a little grate in the corner of the bathroom.

The human had sat on the bed, inspecting the electronic contraption, while Spock had resumed his place at the window, looking out at the green and yellow fields. Jim had felt the melancholy and sadness radiating from the Vulcan and opted for saying nothing – most of the time it was the better thing to do. Spock could be explosive when he had the feeling of being pushed into a corner by Jim.

Jim thought about the Doctor. He had lived five years in K’troll’s estate without even one of the servants indicating that they thought what was happening with them was wrong. And now he was two days in this new estate and they all of a sudden had an ally? He wanted to believe it – but he could not. It sounded too good to be true.

‘But he seemed... genuine. This Bones guy. He didn’t say anything about Spock’s scars and he seems pretty decent,’ he thought with the desperate longing of a young man that had been let down too often in his life.

‘Yes. And Roy had seemed decent as well when he had told you about his friend Captain Mitchell,’ another part of him said acidly and the human bit into the tip of his tongue – hard.

He had brought the communicator back into the bathroom and switched off the light in the room. Spock had not reacted to the semi-darkness that was all of a sudden engulfing him. Jim had not thought he would. The human crawled into the bed and started making himself comfortable.

He had his back turned towards the only light source in the room – the window – and was trying to find a position for his head on the pillow that would allow him to sleep. Every few seconds he braced himself on his elbow and punched the cushion with increasing force and impatience, until he heard the silent metallic tinkling of the chains.

Jim froze while he was attacking the pillow and listened to the soft footsteps coming closer. The bed dipped and he could feel the heat radiating off of the Vulcan body even before the long frame folded itself neatly behind him.

Bent knees were nudging into the hollows of his own knees, a pelvis was snuggling up neatly to his curved backside and a chest was being pressed against his shoulder blades, while one arm shoved itself unselfconsciously under his head, until he could lay it down upon the biceps.

His human heart had beaten unbearably fast, but he had said nothing.

A few hours had passed – with neither of them finding sleep. Every now and again their bodies were shifting; it was a slow procedure and Jim felt his head swimming and his eyes prickling at the sudden awareness of the other, sinewy body sliding delectably against his own, while they sought and found repeatedly positions in which to try and find rest, until they had come to a rest the way they now were: pressed from chest to knee against one another; their bellies seemingly pushing and pulling the air out of the other body in a synchronization that would have been mesmerizing to look at.

Jim had his forehead pressed against Spock’s collarbone and his fingers were curling around one lean bicep.

When he slightly shifted his head, he could feel the cold steel of the metal collar. He finally broke the silence.

“You should run.”

Spock blew a long breath out and brought his left arm up in order to throw it over Jim’s hip.

“And where, pray tell, should I run to?” the baritone asked. He sounded calm and collected, but Jim could feel his heart starting to flutter in Spock’s side against his own flank. It was a very strange feeling and one that had freaked the human out the first time it had happened.

“He said you’d be working on the fields – you can run away from there. Find help...” the human murmured stubbornly into Spock’s collarbone.

“No. I won’t leave you alone. The moment I flee, they have free reign over you,” the Vulcan murmured. Jim gritted his teeth together.

“Damn it, Spock! I couldn’t care less about what would be happening to me. Everything they dish out, I can take. Be selfish for one God damned second!” he exclaimed while pushing himself up on one elbow and looking down at Spock. The dark eyes stared solemnly back and even before he opened his mouth to speak, Jim knew what he would say.

“I will not leave you alone. They are capable of things that are as of yet out of our experience and after the last encounter I am not willing to part from you again only to – “

“You want to get beaten again?! Is that it? Want to get a few new souvenirs on your fucking back?!” Jim exclaimed with a hotheadedness that was sounding unholy in the little room that had been so silent up until now.

The human was sitting energetically up and seized Spock’s shoulder, turning the unresisting Vulcan around on his stomach and shoving his shirt roughly up his back.

“Jim...” Spock said, his dark voice sounded husky. The human straddled his thighs, teeth bared in a silent snarl and staring down at the ruined canvas of what had been once upon a time a smooth plane of olive skin.

“You want that, you moron?” he nearly screamed now, placing one hand between Spock’s shoulder blades and digging his fingernails into the scarred flesh. The Vulcan went utterly still beneath him.

“You have the chance to flee, Spock. You have the chance to somehow... somehow... to leave everything behind,” Jim said – his voice was shaking and he was staring unseeingly at the back of Spock’s head.

“Jim... no. I won’t go,” the Vulcan said silently, careful in not moving one muscle. Jim could feel the vibration of the voice beneath his fingers.

Hot anger pooled in his gut and he raised his hand, curling it into a fist and bringing it down hard on Spock’s spine.

“You idiot! You damned idiot! Have you no instinct in self preservation? Or have you been with K’troll for so long that you actually enjoy getting the skin stripped from your back?!” he said fiercely while pounding and scratching at the unresisting body underneath him. His vision was blurred and his breath was fast and harsh.

“I can give you that as well, you know,” he croaked. He brought his hand up again; his tight, angry fist was shaking.

He looked down upon the silent man and had to blink a view times in order to clear the moisture that had gathered on his eyes.

Spock’s back was mottled in bruises, his fingers tightly curled into the bedding, his gasping breaths mingling with Jim’s in the room.

The human hiccupped and crumpled forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Spock’s head.

“Why don’t you defend yourself? You are so much stronger than I. Why do you lie there and just take it?” he croaked and pressed his eyes tightly together. He refused to cry. He simply refused it. However, his breathing was emerging stuttering and jumpy.

His fingers curled into the bedding just like Spock’s.

“Why don’t you struggle when they do these things to you, Spock? Why don’t you finally flee, you moron?” he sobbed. His elbows buckled and he sank down, pressing his forehead against the inhumanly warm neck of the alien.

“I won’t leave you alone, Jim. You are... everything. I won’t jeopardize you or your safety. Never.”

Spock’s voice was solemn and calm, despite his desperate choke hold on the sheets. Jim sobbed silently, his strength giving out on him. He sank down upon the hot body of the other man and shook his head from side to side in a slow, stubborn denial.

He was not worthy of this fierce, loyal trust Spock was bestowing upon him.

“They must not separate us, Spock...” he whispered, shoving his arms under the alien and hugging him in a way that made the air rush out of the Vulcan.

And wasn’t that the crux of the matter? Jim was scared shitless over the prospect of being separated from his friend tomorrow. His body was shuddering and he was gulping air into his lungs like much needed water.

Spock listened to the undignified snivelling of the man atop of him and slowly closed his eyes. He still felt the burning and pounding in his back and heard the angry screams and insults ringing in his ear. He slowly brought his arm up and placed his hand behind himself upon the back of Jim’s head, carding his fingers through the thick, dark-blonde mane.

“They won’t, Jim.”

 

Jim was standing in front of a flat, long building that was ducking behind the mansion out of sight of any eyes that were looking frontal at the building. One could hear the rustling of hay inside but there was no accompanying smell of warm, big bodies that usually went with farm animals.

He frequently looked backwards to where he could see Spock’s dark cap of hair peeking out just-so between the tall rows of crops. Banta had brought the Vulcan first to his new work. He had given him a large linen bag – easily three times the size of what the other workers were wearing slung around their bodies – and instructed him to just harvest the corn. (‘You can do that, right, you big, dumb ox?’)

Jim had frowned and looked up towards the Triptochid, while shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Why don’t you use machines?” he asked stubbornly. The bodyguard threw him a quick, dispassionate look.

“It’s cheaper this way. And it will be even cheaper now that we have ourselves a pretty, little beast of burden – eh, Vulcan?” he said, slapping Spock on the back who solemnly had slung the big bag around his shoulders so that it was lying on his back.

Jim visibly bristled, while Spock simply tilted his head and said, “Yes.”

And then Banta had grabbed Jim on his upper arm and drew him away from the Vulcan. The human had not been prepared and dug his heels in the ground for the whole way, looking back at Spock with huge eyes, but it seemed like Banta did not even notice his reticence.

Jim felt nervous and unhappy. The fact that he hadn’t been separated from Spock in a very long time made him queasy and twitchy.

“Come,” Banta said now, placing his hand upon the human’s back and pushing him towards the stables. Jim violently shrugged with his shoulders in order to dislodge him and threw another look back. This time he could not even see the black cap anymore. His gut clenched painfully and he said, “Why can’t he work with me? Or I with him?”

Banta did not answer. He shoved the door to the stables open and ushered Jim inside. The human was not prepared to come suddenly face to face with a creature that he was quite certain directly had sprung out of his nightmares.

It stood tightly leashed to the wall and had the shape of a horse – however, this was practically the only thing it had in common with the generally good natured terran animals.

The body was covered with several dark, shining plates that reminded Jim distinctly of the chitin body of an insect – in fact the whole damn beast looked an awful lot like an insect. The four legs were spindly thin and possessed sharp looking spikes on them with which this particular specimen dug at the dirt floor. The mouth was formed like the beak of a parrot and it clacked loud with it while the beady, black eyes stared aggressively at the newcomers.

“What the hell...” Jim whispered and made an involuntary step backwards. Banta grinned and his heavy hand landed upon one shoulder of the man.

“This are the Crep’ka. And you will take good care of them. They are very precious for the boss.”

“What are they for?” Jim croaked. He did not dare go near this beast.

“Racing. Now – I will instruct you, so listen up. I won’t tell you twice.”

 

“Jim... let me look at your wound.”

“No. Go away and let me sleep.”

“You may sleep – just take off your shirt and I will try and administer to it.”

“No! There is no use, Spock. Don’t you understand? Tomorrow I’ll have to go back there.”

Jim was lying on the narrow bed, his back turned towards Spock. The shirt had a nasty slice over his back and was crusted with the blood of a shallow wound – the symbol of Jim’s very first lesson: don’t ever let the Crep’ka out of sight.

His whole body was hurting and his limbs felt heavy with fatigue. Banta had let him carry hay rolls until the mid afternoon from one corner of the stable to the other where he had had to climb a ladder with them and put them up into the storage area in the roof of the building.

It had been no particularly difficult task – only longwinded and dull; the three eyes of the Triptochid never had left him and Jim had been steeling himself for remarks, but the alien had remained perfectly silent, just sitting there lazily on a chair that looked so worn that it might’ve collapsed under the substantial weight of the burly alien.

It had been very disconcerting – to say the least. Jim was wary of the bodyguard and the glint in those treacherous three eyes seemed everything – only not benign.

The human found himself constantly thinking about what was going through Banta’s head, while the alien was staring at him like he was prey.

And then the real work had begun.

The Crep’ka were strong and stubborn beasts that made it very clear what they thought about being handled by those strange, two legged creatures. Jim almost felt pity for them, because it was very clear that they did not enjoy their imprisonment – not like the terran horses he had compared them to previously.

This ‘almost pity’ had dissolved very quickly, though. Already the first Crep’ka had nearly bitten Jim’s fingers off when the human tried to harness it into a special snaffle and repeatedly had tried to push him against the wall while he had cleaned its chitin shell with water.

Vargaz owned five of those beasts and it had been the fourth one that finally had gotten the young man. While Banta had gruffly instructed him not to forget the places in which two chitin plates were sliding over one another, the Crep’ka had obviously seen its chance and one of the spindly legs had shot out towards Jim, slicing ferociously at him.

He could only thank his luck for standing slightly out of reach – the cut was very shallow, but he nonetheless had felt the power that was hidden in those deceptively thin legs.

The human had fallen down with a cry, the wound burning like hell.

‘They have a special secretion in their legs. Its not deadly for humanoids, but very painful. I would be careful in future, if I were you,’ Banta had said, not budging from his place on the chair. When Jim finally had regained his equilibrium and looked drenched in sweat up to Banta, the three eyes were filled with an unholy lust.

Even now, only remembering it, he drew his knees up towards his stomach and let out a slightly shuddering breath.

When Spock touched his elbow again, he only shrugged it off with badly veiled impatience.

“Let me be, Spock.”

The Vulcan sat back and slowly shook his hand, clasping his hands together in his lap. His work had been considerably less dangerous as Jim’s. Despite a sore back due to the heavy load he had been carrying over hours and a bad sunburn, he was practically unharmed.

 

Only when he got into bed a couple hours later did Jim budge again, suddenly turning around and wrapping his arms around Spock.

The Vulcan drew his slanted eyebrows together in consternation. He waited, but nothing was forthcoming, so he let Jim be for the moment. Maybe the human just needed to... think about what had happened.

 

Leonard McCoy was sitting at his computer at home and was gnawing on his knuckles while staring at the screen in contemplation. He could hear Joanna puttering around behind him with the few homework a ten year old got; the rest of the house was blessedly silent.

Jocelyn had left the planet the day before. The affair had been strained and left him with a heavy weight lying in his stomach.

Joanna had been crying despite the reassurances that she and her mother would often converse via video feed and it had made everything so much more difficult. He still was kind of fond of Jocelyn and he could see it in her eyes that she felt the same. Hell, they had been struggling for a few years; too stubborn to admit that they were simply not compatible. On a deep level they still loved each other – but it simply was not enough to live through the every day life that had creeped up upon them.

His decision to join Starfleet had only been the final one in a long chain of decisions that had brought them both slowly but surely apart.

Nevertheless – some pathetic part in him still somehow hoped that this forced separation of six months would led them to realize how much they meant for each other and that the love that had driven them together in the early stages of their relationship would resurface.

He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to get his thoughts away from her – and quickly.

McCoy opened his slightly bloodshot eyes and stared at the email he had been writing on for the last hour. He did simply not know how to phrase it. Everything sounded ludicrous and plainly unbelievable. It had taken him the better of the past week in which he both had hoped and dared for a signal from Vargaz to unearth this particular address and now that he had it he did not know what to write.

“Dad? What are you doing?” came the voice of Joanna from next to his elbow. He sighed and rubbed the back of his nose.

“Gee, let me think... I make plans for world domination – what do you think I’m doing, darling?” he said and glanced at her from the side. She was still pale from yesterday, but she had eaten her breakfast as she had been told and when he had brought her to school she went without a complaint. She was a good girl.

Right now she threw him a look between incomprehension and annoyance. McCoy sighed and sat back in his chair, reaching with his arm for her and stroking across the brown locks.

“Are you finished with your homework?” he asked her, forcing his lips into some kind of smile.

“Almost...” she answered distractedly. She was more intrigued by what was on the screen than what her father was asking.

She slightly squinted her eyes and her lips were moving silently, while she read something and finally she turned her head and looked up at her father.

“Who is Ambassador Sarek, Dad?”

He got up and ushered her back towards the narrow desk in the living room they were currently in. While she sat back upon the couch he crouched down in order to see what she had done up until now with her homework.

While he read through it he answered, “He is someone who can hopefully help me with a problem, darling.”

 

Banta was not always there to supervise Jim. Since he had begun the work in the stables a week ago, the bodyguard had only been there on two different occasions. The other times other servants had been present to keep an eye on him.

On this day, however, the bodyguard had sauntered in behind the human and taken a seat on that ludicrous chair. Jim had ignored him and shed his torn shirt upon entry, neatly hanging it on one of the pegs near the door. His upper body was mottled with bruises and vicious looking cuts where the Crep’ka had managed to get to him in the course of the week.

He hated those fucking beasts with a vengeance. The human was only happy that he had no business riding these damned things.

“Heh... haven’t been careful enough, eh? I told you to keep your eyes open. But you obviously have bad ears.” Banta’s voice floated over towards him through the thick, heavy air. It was overly warm today. Jim was strung tight as a bow – the hated work added only to his discomfort at being shut off from Spock, who still was working the fields. The Vulcan was assuring him that his work was not nearly as hard as Jim’s, but he had seen in the dark eyes that he was under pain. The heavy bag on his back was rubbing uncomfortably against all the scars and some of them were really sore.

“Shut up,” Jim growled half heartedly, while seizing a broom and starting to sweep the floor. Banta grinned slowly and brought both of his hands to the back of his bald head.

“You seem a little... tense. Did your Vulcan pet not like your new accessories? You look pretty fine to me. I like the more... real... body paint.”

A cold shiver ran down Jim’s spine and his hands gripped the broom tighter.

“Yes. Only because you are a sick fuck,” he said tersely.

Banta’s eyes narrowed.

“You should watch your mouth, slave. You really should,” he said slowly and watched the mesmerizing play of muscles beneath tanned skin that was flecked with bruises. He licked his lips, imagining all the ways he could put those artful spots upon this extraordinary body.

When Jim didn’t say more, Banta pushed him further, “You fuck him? Or are you his bitch?”

He had seen their kiss – it would simply not leave his mind; they had been looking gorgeous together – and he witnessed the reluctance with which they were parting from each other day by day.

However – the human whirled around like he had been stung by a bee and hissed like a feral cat, “Shut your God damned mouth! Don’t speak of him like that! He is worth more than ten of you.”

He spat at the floor in front of the Triptochid in utter disgust.

Jim was not prepared for the way the burly man suddenly shot out of his chair and was at him in a speed he had never anticipated from the burly guy. The next thing he knew his head was swinging to the side, his cheek stinging with the heavy slap he had earned from the fleshy hand.

The human stumbled and would’ve fallen down if he had not had the broom still clutched in his fingers and was leaning upon it.

He was blinking dazedly at Banta, while the tip of his tongue was carefully searching for the split in his lip, where it had cut open over his sharp teeth.

The Triptochid was standing calm and collected – like he hadn’t nearly broken Jim’s neck with a simple slap – but his three eyes were fixed with utter loathing upon him.

“Watch. Your. Mouth. You will regret it otherwise...” the Triptochid said slowly and with careful enunciation, his voice nothing more than the growl of a beast.

Jim swallowed the blood in his mouth and started sweeping again. He felt inexplicably cold despite the heat.

 

“Don’t you want to tell me what happened?” Spock asked silently, while he pressed a wet, cold cloth against the swollen cheek of his ever present companion. Jim’s hazel eyes were stubborn and shuttered. He did not even answer and the Vulcan did not pry further.

His silky, slanted eyebrows were drawn together in consternation, but he knew that it would cause Jim only to seize up more if he pressed him, so there really was only one point of action.

When the human spoke it was for a totally different reason, “I think I can get us out of this room.”

Spock slowly and carefully drew his arms away from Jim.

“You think they have a library?” he asked silently. The human nodded, while he stood up and carefully scrutinized the door like he had done the past couple of days.

“Yes, I think so. This mansion is big – Vargaz is bound to have one.”

“I find it highly unsettling that he has not spoken to us since he gave us our assignments,” Spock said slowly. Jim shrugged his broad shoulders.

“It is fine by me. He can burn in hell for all I care – and Banta right with him.”

Spock clasped his hands silently behind his back and watched Jim. He did not condone this violent imagery his friend was invoking, but he also could not say that he was... against it. So he opted to remain on topic.

“Nevertheless – I have experienced that long periods of... silence often lead human beings to be quite... inventive.”

Jim nodded and said without turning around, “Yep. And that is why I have come up with a plan to brake out of here.”

“I was speaking of Mr. Vargaz, Jim.”

“I know, but I don’t want to speak of him.”

Spock nearly sighed and walked to his friend.

“What do you need to open it?”

“Not much – something primitive. A needle or something. Maybe thicker.”

Spock fell into silence and then murmured, “I would not know where to get something like that on the field. And you are under constant supervision – they would get suspicious if you pocketed something.”

“I already have a plan.”

“Will you tell me your plan, Jim?”

“No.”

Spock slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was looking as unhappy as a Vulcan could. He had a very bad feeling about this.


	10. Interlude III: A kiss is a terrible thing to waste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, abuse, underage sexuality (not explicit)

The moment Spock released the gag from the human’s mouth, Jim took a hasty step backwards and drew his shoulders up to his ears.

“Where am I?” he asked. The Vulcan blinked a few times and carefully laid the piece of cloth down upon his little table under the secured window.

“In Master K’troll’s estate,” he answered solemnly, taking a step towards the human and stretching his arms out in order to get to work on the bound hands. Jim, however, avoided him and sidestepped towards the door which had led them inside the little room of the Vulcan.

“Why am I here?” he asked, the light brown eyebrows drawn together in what Spock assumed was disdain. The Vulcan slowly clasped his hands together in front of his stomach. His dark eyes did not leave the boy – he was way too fascinated with this new addition to the house.

“I guess you are to be another slave,” he said and the corners of his mouth drew slightly downwards when he witnessed Jim’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. Had he said something wrong? It was not his intention to cause distress...

“Ex...cuse me?! Did you just say slave?” the boy practically shrieked, his voice cracking and sounding particularly young. Spock was intrigued – his voice had broken 2.34 years prior and it never had misbehaved as the one of this young human. He was eager to answer him.

“You heard correctly. May I free you from your bounds?” he said, taking another step towards him. Jim raised his arms quickly in a clearly blocking gesture.

“Woah, woah, there, fella! Not so quick. I’m no slave, there has to be a mistake!” Jim exclaimed. Spock watched him intently. He was a little at a loss as to how to interpret the body language of the human.

His shoulders were thrown backwards and his chin raised in defiance, but the pupils of these extraordinary hazel eyes were dilated 40% of what was the norm and indicated a certain amount of fear; combined with the raised arms that were clearly meant to block the threat of the Vulcan, he came to the conclusion not to press the removal of the bounds and stepped back.

He lowered his head and said slowly, “I do not know the particulars of your coming here, Jim. I am not privy to these things.”

“Stop calling me that!” the human hissed. Spock chanced a glance upwards and watched the agitated young man.

“Is that not your name?” he asked haltingly. Jim looked skittish while his eyes flitted about, taking in the little room – clearly searching for an escape route.

“It is. But I don’t know yours and as long as – “

“I am Spock.”

The young man halted and blinked a few times, watching Spock with uncertainty.

“You’re a Vulcan.”

There was a slight hesitation and Spock’s cheeks suffused with the barest hint of green. He lowered his head again.

“I... am.”

Jim clearly did not know what he should make out of that reaction. He slowly slipped out of the rope that had been clumsily bound around his wrists.

“Yes, well... I’m a free citizen of the Federation and I won’t be handled as a... a... slave,” he said, while walking towards the window behind Spock. The Vulcan had a few seconds in which he regarded the ropes that were lying discarded on the floor with a certain sense of confusion, before he snapped back into action and watched in alarm as the human started fiddling with the openings of the window.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed and quickly stepped towards Jim.

“I’m leaving this dump,” the human murmured, while fixing the lock on the handle and squinting his eyes in contemplation. Spock felt his stomach contract painfully and suddenly.

“You can’t!”

“Of course I can. Just watch me,” the human said, while shoving his hand inside his pocket and withdrawing a thin metallic object. Spock’s eyes widened and his hand shot out unthinkingly in order to seize the wrist of the young man.

“You must not!” he said with insistence while at the same time emotions shot up his arm from the point of contact that quite effectively overloaded his synapses. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he let go of Jim with a gasp while staggering backwards and clumsily bumping against the empty bookcase in the little room.

“What the – what’s up with you?” he heard the concerned voice of the other one. It sounded garbled in midst of the still echoing emotions of fearangerdistrusthungeruncertainty. Never would he have anticipated such an upheaval in the other being. He had seemed perfectly calm – at least as calm as one could expect in this situation.

Hands gripped his upper arms and hauled him back onto his feet. Spock had to blink a few times until his vision cleared once more and he was gazing down upon the other boy.

There was an awkward silence between them, until the Vulcan carefully extracted himself from Jim’s grip.

“I shall go and fetch you something to eat, Jim,” he said silently. The human only nodded with a shell-shocked expression.

 

When Spock came back into the room, carrying a tray with various fruits in his arms, the first thing he noticed was that it was distinctly cold. There was a draft that had not been there before. The moment he realized that the window was open and Jim was no longer there was the moment the claxons went off in the whole mansion.

The Vulcan was very calm as he silently put the tray down on the table and went to his bed in order to perch on its edge. He clasped his hands together in his lap when he noticed them trembling and closed his eyes.

 

“You’ve been looking at what happens when you disobey, boy?” K’troll asked. He was slowly walking from side to side behind the bloody mess that was Spock crouching on the floor of the ‘Disciplinary Room’.

Jim was bound to a chair on the other side of the room. He was white as a sheet and his hazel eyes huge and disbelieving. There were still leaves and little twigs stuck to his clothes from where he had tried to rush through the hedges surrounding K’troll’s mansion.

He could not answer. His mouth worked, but there were simply no words forthcoming. K’troll made a disgusted noise and threw the flat, flexible stick he had been using on the back of the Vulcan away into the nearest corner, before he dug inside his pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes from which he lit one.

He stepped with an air of utter negligence over the Vulcan while taking a drag and walking slowly towards Jim. The human tried not to squirm in his bonds, forcing himself to be brave in the face of an alien that had just utilized thirty minutes to simply thrash an unresisting creature that had done nothing wrong.

K’troll bowed down low and blew the smoke into the face of the boy. Jim thought that he would – paired with the nausea he felt from watching and hearing the smack after smack – barf right on K’troll’s shoes. He swallowed a few times convulsively.

“You better get it into your skull that you won’t be able to flee,” K’troll said with a dangerously low voice.

“You remind me of him,” he said, gesturing behind him with his free hand and bringing the cigarette up again to his deep red lips.

“He tried the exact same thing as you in his first days here... and it had the exact same result. As you can see: he is still here. After all these years. And you will be as well, my pretty boy,” he growled. He took hold of Jim’s jaw, but the human shook his head free with utter disgust.

“I am no slave!” he hissed, his hazel eyes sparkling with disdain.

“I’m a free citizen of one of the Federation planets and as soon as I’m outta here they will – “

“AAhh... but you see, you never will be out of here. You better get used to it,” K’troll interrupted him while walking back towards Spock.

Jim felt bile rise in his throat and he struggled all the more in his bonds.

“I will get out of here, you crazy bastard! And if I have to cut your throat open,” he cried out in stubborn rage. His stomach was a hot, coiling mess of hunger and anger. K’troll ignored him and nudged at Spock with his boot.

“Get up. Next time you take better care of him. I leave him in your care for five minutes and he’s almost gone?” the red skinned alien hissed while Spock slowly got to his feet. His movements seemed stiff and a little slow, but otherwise one would not think that he was bleeding out of several wounds at the moment.

The face of the Vulcan was impassive as it gazed upon K’troll.

“I am sorry, Master.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” the alien growled, flicking his cigarette away and nodding towards Jim.

“Take him. And I don’t wanna hear anything from you two until I call for you.”

“Of course, sir.”

 

“Why are you... why did you not fight back?!” Jim asked agitatedly when they were back in the little room. Spock had produced a low basin filled with water out of the tiny bathroom that was adjacent and kneeled on the bed while gingerly cleaning his back. The Vulcan said nothing.

Jim balled his hands into fists.

“You’ve just taken your shirt off and stood there while he thrashed you! Have you no pride?! You’re a Vulcan, you’re strong, are you not?” the human demanded. Slanted eyebrows were slowly drawn together and Spock cleaned the cloth he was using in the water.

“I have brought you something to eat. Please utilize it,” he said with a low, perfectly calm voice. Jim stormed towards him, grabbed one hand just above the manacles of Spock’s shackles and tugged on it until he had the undivided attention of the man.

“Do you like being a slave?! Or do you like being tortured?” he hissed like an angry cat. Spock could feel all kinds of emotions being transmitted through the touch – only few of them ones that he did recognize; like anger or pain.

The dark eyes narrowed and stared directly into hazel ones.

“I do not condone any of these. However, it is not possible for me to do anything while shackled in these bonds. Furthermore, I have tried many – many – times to flee this mansion and had to accept the simple fact that it is not possible. Now, if you do not want to try your luck escaping again and cause me more trouble – I would like to clean myself.”

The voice had been perfectly calm, but Jim felt like he had been punched in the gut. He hurriedly let go of the wrist and took a step back.

 

When he had finished eating like ravenous wolf he looked over towards Spock who was lying on his stomach on the bed, eyes half lidded and slowly breathing.

“Where is my room?” he asked after a while.

“This is your room, Jim.”

“And were is your room?”

“This is my room, Jim.”

The human drew his eyebrows together slowly and looked around. The room looked bland and uninhabited. There were no little tokens or trinkets that naturally accumulated when one was living somewhere.

“Since when do you live here?”

“Since I came to this estate.”

Jim was gritting his teeth in annoyance and started walking up and down the length of the room.

“When did you come here?”

“10.23 years ago.”

That shut the human effectively up.

 

“I hate it when you call him Master,” Jim said. He had been on the estate for two weeks and was following Spock around in his tasks, watching the Vulcan and pretending that he was learning something while really his mind was gnawing at the puzzle how to flee this place. Spock was currently crouched in the garden behind the mansion and gently putting a flower into the hole he had dug for it.

“And what should I call him instead?” Spock asked. His dark voice held a certain amount of coldness. The tension between the two was thick. They did not understand each other – at all; and it led to many, many arguments that Spock was not used to. Jim seemed to be always primed to argue over everything and it only fuelled his ire when Spock said nothing and let him rant.

The nights were restless because they had worked out a rotation that would let one sleep on the bed while the other had to utilize a make-shift nest on the floor. It was... grating, to say the least.

“Don’t know...” Jim murmured and kicked a little stone away. He sounded young in that moment – young and stubborn and Spock thought that his stubborn companion had to feel very lonely... alone in this strange world.

“How old are you, Jim?” he asked silently. He had not asked much – Jim had rebuffed all his advances of trying to wriggle any information out of him despite Spock being more than interested in this young being.

“Fifteen...” came the reluctant answer. Spock hesitated in gently pushing dirt over the hole with the flower and turned around. His chains were tinkling in the hot afternoon air. Dark eyes regarded Jim and the human immediately crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive gesture.

“What?” he hissed. Slanted eyebrows drew slightly up and Spock said carefully, “It must be very hard for you... I am sorry that you are held here against your will.”

Something in Jim’s cheek twitched and his normally tanned skin got noticeably whiter around his mouth. Spock watched as the hazel eyes started rapidly blinking a few times and cocked his head to the side minutely. Had he said something wrong?

“It must be hard for me?” Jim croaked at last, his voice once more cracking. He turned quickly away from the inquisitive, dark stare and brought his arm up to rub across his face – at least that was what it looked like from Spock’s position.

“You are the one that’s been in here for the last ten years, damn it! And you pity me?”

There was silence after that. Spock did not know what to say – he was unsure if Jim was angry with him or not; so he turned back to his work and dug silently another hole, until his sensitive ears could make out that Jim’s breath was once again at a normal rate.

“Would you like to help me?” he asked politely. The young human snorted and grumbled, “Nah, that is work for girls.”

Spock halted at that and slowly turned his head again, watching this puzzling being with a certain amount of bafflement.

“Excuse me? Why is that?” he asked. He had never heard such a thing. The young man just shrug his shoulders and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

“Don’t know... working with flowers and such is,” he shrugged again, “it’s just girl’s work. That’s all.”

“Hmm...” Spock murmured thoughtfully and turned back towards his work. His eyebrows were drawn together in contemplation over what Jim had just said. The concept of dividing certain work between genders never had entered his mind. In all the books about Vulcan teachings he had read had never been a mention of something like that.

“Why are you doing that?” Jim asked after a while. It seemed that he never stayed silent for long – even if he just broke it in order to be antagonistic once more. Spock pressed the feeling of annoyance, that wanted to surface, down.

“Because Master K’troll has given me instructions to care for the flowers.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Jim.”

“What?!” it sounded defensive and Spock gently put down the little shovel he held in his hands in order to clasp them together in his lap and breath a few times. He had to reign in these strange destructive emotions that only Jim seemed to be able to elicit.

“I would appreciate it if you would not question my every move. I do what my Master tells me, otherwise I will be punished. The concept is really not that hard to grasp.”

There was but a second silence and then, “And do you get rewarded if you do something good?”

Spock hesitated a little bit.

“I once got rewarded... before I... disgraced my Master.”

Jim sighed and began rubbing his face with both hands. Talking with Spock was like pulling teeth. The guy was unbelievable. Had he no sense for normal, social interactions?

The young man peeked out between his fingers to the slender creature kneeling on the ground. Spock was picking up the shovel and once again silently bowing over the flowerbed.

‘No... no he probably hasn’t’ he thought and sighed deeply.

 

One week later they stood in the same spot – this time, however, Spock was watering the flowers.

“Would you like to help me, Jim?” he asked politely. The human kicked at some stones.

“No, I already told you that – “

“It is work for females, yes, I remember. Though I find it quite illogical.”

“Yeah you would...” Jim mumbled and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He looked over the Vulcan. He seemed tranquil.

“You like working in the garden, don’t you?” he asked with a certain amount of curiosity.

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Who will tend to them, if not me? They are depend on me caring for them; and in return I may enjoy their colours and fragrances. It is a most... soothing relationship.”

Jim stood there, staring with disbelief at the tall alien.

After a while he reluctantly took the spare watering can and started on the other end of the flower bed.

 

“There you go,” Jim grumbled and let the tray with food plop unceremoniously down in front of K’troll. The alien looked up and stared with ill disguised expectance at the human.

“What? I’m not going to feed you!” Jim hissed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Spock, who stood at the side and was watching the exchange, slowly closed his eyes.

“You have been here for one month now. You still don’t know how to behave and address me?” K’troll said with narrowed eyes. This human child really was a stubborn bastard.

Jim raised his chin in defiance.

“I’ve brought you your lunch – that’s all I had to do, isn’t it? You can’t expect from me to actually like being a slave,” he hissed. K’troll slowly clasped his hands together in front of his stomach.

“It seems that the last lesson did not sink in as much as I had hoped it would,” the man growled and laid his hand upon the upper most drawer of his desk.

“Spock. Come.”

“...Yes, Master.”

 

“Spock.”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Why did you let him do that?”

It was late in the night. Spock and Jim both were sitting on the bed – after the happenings of the day they both could not even think about going to sleep. Jim looked over to his companion and watched the silver moonlight shine off the short chains that were adorning his manacles and collar.

Spock had his knees drawn up towards his body so it wouldn’t be as obvious that his hands were perpetually raised to chest height. It looked ridiculous.

The Vulcan closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath.

“I had no other choice.”

Jim’s hackles started to rise.

“He took of your chains and took his God damned time to put these on! You could’ve smashed his head in and fled!”

He gripped Spock’s shoulder hard and wrenched the unresisting body towards him. He still had the image of how the dignified creature had been forced to clean the windows with the short shackles burned into his retinas.

“What would that have accomplished? For one I do not like violence and blood; and additionally you would not have been able to flee. You are merely human. You do not possess my strength,” Spock said silently while wrenching himself away from Jim’s grasp. The human got warm and cold all over and his mouth went dry like sand.

“W-What? Why would it concern you what happens to me?” he croaked. His hazel eyes looked gilded in silver in the moonlight and almost frightful, “You don’t even like me.”

Spock raised his chin slightly and looked away towards the window.

“Nonetheless, I would not be able to tolerate the thought of another creature suffering as I have suffered.”

They were silent for quite a while, until Jim silently said, “That... is one of the noblest things I have ever heard. You would do very good in Starfleet.”

Spock raised his head a little and turned it towards Jim. There was open curiosity in the dark eyes.

“What is Starfleet?”

A smile he never had seen lit the handsome face of the youth up and Jim hit him with an enthusiastic palm on his shoulder – it was strange. Spock had never been hit with a good intent behind it; it felt benevolent despite the slight sting.

“You never heard of Starfleet? Well, Sir, you’ve come to the right source. Let me tell you about it.”

They spoke the night through.

 

“Hey, Spock?” Jim said. He was lying on his back on the few cushions they had been able to unearth, while Spock was stretching out on his bed. It wasn’t that late, but they had no work at the moment and outside was a heavy storm that threatened to unearth the tall tree that stood in the middle of the garden.

“Yes, Jim?” came the placid answer. Three months and they still knew next to nothing from one another. They were somehow tentative allies at the moment. They still did not understand each other, but Jim made at least an honest effort not to get Spock into more trouble. Two days with shortened chains had been more than enough.

“You... uhm... You said something about getting rewards one time. What were they?” he asked. He desperately wanted to break the silence that had been weighing down on them. Spock was silent for a moment, before he said, “Master K’troll has a library. I was allowed to read the books.”

Jim shot up from his place with vehemence and stared at Spock.

“A library? You’re not kidding?!” he exclaimed. The Vulcan frowned slightly and slowly sat up.

“Indeed I am not.”

“We have to go there!”

The already aloof face seemed to close off completely.

“We are not allowed to do so, Jim.”

“Fuck that! That is brilliant, Spock. As long as we’re here we can read and educate ourselves – you know, for the Academy? You remember what I told you, don’t you?” he said, bracing himself with his elbows upon the bed, while still sitting on the floor. His hazel eyes were shining golden in his excitement. The raging storm outside was nothing more than a background noise now.

Spock’s dark eyes slid away from the enthusiastic gaze.

“Jim... We won’t get away from here.”

The human snorted and stood.

“Nonsense! Of course we will. I’m already working on an escape plan. Until then we can not waste any time – especially you. You’ve even less a clue as to what’s going on in the universe than I have.”

He saw indignation flare in the dark eyes and slim nostrils flared slightly. Jim already had found out that Spock hated being told he was not knowledgeable. However, the Vulcan still looked unconvinced.

Jim extended his hand towards the sitting man with his palm held up.

“You do want to enrol in the Academy, don’t you?” he asked, his lips curled upwards into a mischievous smile.

Spock bit his lower lip and stared at the proffered hand.

Yes, he wanted. What Jim had told him sounded just too good to be true – to be able to fly to different planets and investigate them? Heaven. So much knowledge waiting to be unearthed...

When he gingerly placed his long, slender hand into the broad worker’s hand he felt an electrical tingle rush through his arm and up his shoulder directly into his head, where it prickled at the back of his brain.

He gasped slightly while Jim’s eyes went large and his hand reflexively tightened around the one in his grasp – he had felt the same as Spock.

They stared at one another. One sitting, one standing, bound only by tightly grasping hands in their middle.

“What was that?” Jim croaked at last and pulled at their connection in order to get Spock to his feet.

“I don’t know,” the Vulcan said silently, his cheeks flushed a slight green.

There had been another shift in their relationship.

 

They were highly intelligent beings. They knew a fruitful alliance when they saw one.

Long nights were spent in the library – one reading and the other keeping watch. They did not say anything for fear someone would hear them whisper. Only in the day when they were working did they dare to discuss silently what they had unearthed from the books.

When one was weary the other would take over his work.

It was one week after starting their secret education that Jim called K’troll Master and spared Spock another lashing.

 

“Don’t you want to lie on the bed with me?” Jim asked almost shy. He had listened to the silent tinkling of the chains while Spock was valiantly trying to find a good place to rest on the floor. Six months and they still were stubbornly proud.

A dark head slowly raised itself and looked at Jim with uncertainty.

“Excuse me?”

“We can both lie on the bed, you know... It’s big enough. You’re pretty slim, after all,” he explained. His eyes slid away from the inquisitive gaze. Slanted, silky black eyebrows slowly drew up on a smooth forehead and watched the other boy.

Jim did not look as scrawny anymore as he had six months ago. He seemed to have a growth spurt and his shoulders and chests were noticeably wider than Spock’s. Nonetheless, the Vulcan looked equally reluctant.

“It... would be logical to share the bed, I presume,” he murmured and had to make a conscious effort not to play with the hem of his shirt while trying to decide what the best course of action would be.

“Yeah... and it would only help. When we sleep better, we can work better and – what’s more important – learn better,” Jim said, warming up to the subject. He could see in the flicker of the dark eyes that he had hit a nerve.

Spock clasped his hands together in front of his stomach while he stood up with a smooth movement. He looked utterly regal and it made Jim smile involuntarily.

“Come...” he murmured and wiggled to the side.

Despite their best efforts they were lying awake for most of the night – too conscious were they of the other one right next to them. They tried valiantly not to touch one another.

 

During the cause of the next nights they started instinctively gravitating towards the other body while they were asleep. It took not long until they awakened, tightly pressed against one another and inhaling the intimate scent of another body.

They were embarrassed but accepted it ultimately as one more step in the strange relationship they had tentatively built.

The nights started being restful after seven months of aching limbs and deep fatigue.

 

Spock was kneeling on his cushion at the fireplace. He wore the expensive Vulcan robes K’troll had bought for him and was playing his harp. He looked exotic and was aware of the strange looks the red skinned aliens scattered about the room were throwing him. There was an emotion heavy in the air that he could not quite identify; it felt oppressive and sticky and hot; nothing he cherished.

However, Spock was not concentrating on that or on how he looked or on what he was doing even.

Rather he was watching anxiously what Jim did. It was the first time since the human had come to the mansion exactly 12.4 months ago that he was engaged in one of K’troll’s gatherings.

There had been a few since Jim had come to the estate but up until now their Master had thought it unwise to present the stubborn human to his business partners – and Spock had to agree. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t have brought Jim here even now that he displayed – at least on the surface – a grudging submission. It had taken long – oh so long – to convince the proud man to bow his head in front of K’troll and spare them needless heartache, but now he wondered if that had been a tactical mistake, for K’troll thought he had tamed the unruly human and could use him for his gloating in front of the other men.

Jim’s work was easy enough – he was balancing a tray full of snacks and champagne flutes around the room, serving the aliens and making sure none was left sober. He wore a tunic that was exquisitely wrapped around his torso and that was of the same deep blue colour as Spock’s robe. His golden hair seemed to positively shine in contrast to the dark colours and the Vulcan found his fingers almost stumbling when he realized that slowly but surely the other aliens seemed to realize the beauty of the young man.

Jim on his part wore a stony face of indifference. He spoke a constant mantra of ‘I’m getting out of here some day’ in his head to keep calm and collected while he served the aliens snacks as if he was a lower servant boy – which, to his chagrin, he was at the moment. At first he had sneaked surreptitious glances towards Spock – he was too engrossed in how different the Vulcan was looking in these robes, sitting like an exotic pet upon the cushions and playing the harp, but after two hours on his feet even that novelty had worn off and he was simply fed up with this situation.

“Hey, human,” someone to his right said. Jim turned smoothly and held out his tray – his arm was tired of carrying it and his muscles were cramping, but he was determined to last as long as possible. He would not give K’troll the satisfaction of seeing him fail.

The dark-blonde young man blinked a little surprised when the tray was taken out of his hand and placed upon a nearby table. The alien that had relieved him of his burden grinned. The white teeth were especially shining in midst all the deep red skin.

“Come here,” he said, while gripping Jim’s wrist. The human immediately started struggling, his eyebrows drawn together in an expression of stormy disdain.

“Let go of me!” he hissed. Dismayed he realized that these aliens obviously were stronger than humans for no matter how he tried to wrench free of the grasp that was tugging him nearer and nearer, he was not able to.

The alien laughed while pulling the squirming young man into his lap.

“Hey, K’troll! May I play with him? He seems to be quite the hellhound!” he cried out in amusement. K’troll, who was standing on the other side of the room, looked up and frowned slightly.

“Hmm... By all means. But don’t break him, I need the little devil.”

Jim felt his heart starting to pound frantically and he had to swallow a few times around the lump that had formed in his throat.

“What the – leave me alone you bastard! I’m no toy for your amusement,” he growled and hissed like an angry cat when his arms were pressed seemingly effortless against his body, effectively pinning him down.

He felt hot breath on his neck as the man behind him whispered, “Yes, squirm a little more. That’s perfect.”

The human’s heart sank when he felt something twitch where his bottom was pressed against the groin of the alien. His gut started to churn painfully and he was reminded of a warehouse on Tarsus IV one year ago. A whimper crawled out of his throat before he could stop it, but it was cut short in favour of a scream of agony as something hard and unyielding drove itself deep into his shoulder.

The bastard was biting him! A rivulet of blood trickled down the front, curving delicately around his collarbone before it was being soaked up by the tunic.

He heard a loud clattering on the other side of the room and forced his eyes open only to see the Vulcan rushing towards them. Jim’s mouth got dry when he saw the expression of rage on Spock’s face. He knew the guy for one year and never – never – had he seen him angry. Even when K’troll had whipped him bloody or used the ridiculously short chains, Spock had just taken it in stride. Now however...

The normally creamy-white face was flushed an angry green and his lips were drawn back over his lips in a growl that Jim could actually hear as the alien was upon them.

Jim did not remember much from that night.

But what he remembered and would never forget in his whole life, was the loud cracking of bones as Spock wrenched the arms of the alien away from the human, effectively freeing him and breaking the red skinned alien’s wrist neatly.

 

Even for Spock, who could heal extraordinarily fast, it took a long time to get over the beating of K’troll. Several ribs had been broken, his back was an open wound, where Jim could see the white of bones shimmering through, and to add insult to injury the shackles had been shortened again.

Almost the worst wound, however, was the one both bore upon their hipbones now. Jim was not sure that he would ever forget the burning pain of his flesh being mutilated by a branding iron or the low simmering hate for K’troll for marking him as a possession.

They were both deeply shaken. Spock’s sudden explosion in the face of Jim’s distress had been something neither of them had been prepared for.

They spoke very little during the hard time following Spock’s attack of the alien. The Vulcan was lying on his stomach, his head turned away towards the wall and seemingly intent on ignoring everyone and everything.

Jim found himself during this time in a very curious new position: he was tending to the alien. He utilized the anatomical knowledge from the books they had read and tried to ease the pain of Spock as best as possible.

When Jim had to help Spock the first time in performing his ablutions because the Vulcan was simply too weak and could not reach anything with his short shackles, both of the proud men were almost weeping in shame and deep seated hurt.

However, it went more easy as time went on. When K’troll finally remembered that he had two slaves and elongated Spock’s chains once more, two weeks had passed. As soon as the two were alone once more, the Vulcan took Jim’s hands in his, cradling them in a warm, firm grasp.

The human squirmed slightly under the intense gaze of dark, soft eyes and his breath hitched when Spock said, “Never has someone done for me, what you have done, Jim. I will never be able to repay your kindness, but I will try to do so, nevertheless. I once read in Vulcan lore that two warriors that protect each other’s lives will be bound together for eternity. I am willing to follow you wherever you need me, as long as you need me. I have disregarded the strength of your character because of your youth and now I realize that that has been a grave mistake. We are warriors in a battle. I have realized that in the long hours I have lain here, not able to move, while you have tended my wounds. Please forgive me... friend...?”

Jim felt his eyes sting at the way Spock spoke so uncertainly the last word. He drew one of his hands out of Spock’s grasp and laid it upon the tangle of hands between them.

“We’re in this together, Spock. We’ll get out of it together. Friend.”

 

They were somewhat surprised when K’troll ordered them to the next gathering of his business partners. Somehow they had thought that he would avoid another chance of embarrassing himself with their conduct, but he obviously had other plans.

“Sit,” he ordered curtly, pointing down upon several cushions in front of the fire. The two exchanged slightly troubled glances. They new each other for almost one and a half years now and were starting to get a hang of interpreting the silent clues the facial expressions of their companion were giving them.

Slowly both of them sank down on the soft cushions. They felt the eyes of the hostile aliens gathered in the room upon them like weights. It was like they were prey waiting to be hunted. K’troll slowly walked over to his desk and drew something out. Spock tensed against his will when he saw the long whip in his grasp that he had shown the Vulcan so many years ago upon Spock’s first failed escape attempt.

“You two lead quite a good life, do you know that?” K’troll said while slowly walking back towards them. The other men in the room grinned, but said nothing. There was a certain sense of anticipation in the room that caused the little hair on Jim’s and Spock’s bodies to rise. They did not know what they were anticipating and that was almost more threatening as anything else.

Jim snorted silently when he realized what K’troll had said, but he kept silent.

“I could’ve made thousands of credits from you two by now. Just chain you to a bed and whore you out,” their Master continued. Spock heard his companion drawing a sharp breath. He watched Jim out of the corner of his eyes. The young man had gone quite pale and Spock felt trepidation rise.

“’But K’troll’, I had said to me when my friends here had expressed interest in you, ‘they are still quite young – children even. You should spare them the indignity of serving men after men. After all, they’ve become good little slaves, after you’ve tamed them.’ That’s what I thought. But I haven’t tamed you at all, have I?” he growled. His light blue eyes were never leaving the two young men that were sitting on the cushions and looking distinctly ill at ease by now.

K’troll let the whip snap in the air and two rows of shocking white teeth were bared in a shark-like grin when he saw both of them twitch ever so slightly.

“I have thought long and hard about what I would do with you two. After all, I have spent many credits, haven’t I? And then I remembered why I had bought the human in the first place...”

He brought the handle of the whip under Jim’s chin and raised his head. The human shook his head in order to dislodge it and snarled. K’troll’s left cheek twitched, but he remained calm while a low chuckle was to be heard in one of the darker corners of the room.

“He was to be a playmate for my other slave. That’s what I said to you, isn’t that right, Spock?”

“Yes, Master. That is what you said,” Spock said silently, his hands curled into fists in the folds of the robe he wore.

K’troll looked satisfied and took a step back, surveying the two, before he said, “You two have the choice – either you perform for us or I’ll rethink the concept of chaining you to a bed.”

A pair of dark, brown eyes and a pair of bright, hazel eyes were looking at him in incomprehension from their position on the cushions.

“Per...form for you, Master?” Spock said at last. The corner of K’troll’s mouth curled slowly upwards.

“Yes. Perform,” the alien said with obvious relish and nodded to Jim, whose face was alternatively red and white, “Explain it to him.”

K’troll watched as the human reluctantly leaned over towards Spock and whispered something in the pointed ear. One could pinpoint the exact second in which it clicked in the Vulcan’s head, for his spine snapped rigidly straight and his dark eyes widened ever so slightly.

There was more laughter in the room.

“Well? What shall it be?” K’troll taunted at last, when the two moved no muscle, only stared at one another.

He let his whip crack once more threateningly in the air.

When they finally moved their faces tentatively towards one another, there was something strange shifting in their faces – like something fragile inside them had been broken.

 

The kiss was a slow, tentative pressing of lips against lips. Both young men decidedly unsure and uncomfortable with the situation of sitting in the middle of a room full of hostile aliens and being gawked at while performing something so... intimate.

Spock could feel the tension and unhappiness from Jim through their contact point and it only led to the Vulcan feeling bad in return. He could sense snippets of Jim’s thoughts garbled in his head, ‘Never thought my first kiss would be like this...’ and seriously thought for a few seconds about breaking this charade and telling K’troll that he would go with the other option as long as this creature was save.

They were concentrating more on their surroundings than on each other. They could hear the aliens starting to shift about the room and low conversations were started.

When Spock slightly opened his eyes that had fallen shut without his volition in the beginning, he saw Jim peeking at him from under golden lashes.

The two exchanged unhappy, strained glances, before tentatively squirming towards one another and deepening the kiss with clumsy, uneducated movements that would get quite skilled throughout the years.

 

At first they did not speak about what was happening in those gatherings that were roughly every three months. The young men tried to ignore the fact that they were forced to be increasingly more intimate with one another. The shame made them numb and cold inside – they had the feeling a secret, cherished aspect of their very beings was ripped out of them when they had to ‘perform’ for these aliens.

The first time K’troll had demanded they be naked and try to elicit a reaction out of their flaccid genitalia they had been frozen in terror. They had not been able to do any of the things that had been demanded from them.

Deep in the night, after the disaster, they had lain in bed, clutching at each other like they were a lifeline, their backs still burning from the lashes they had received for their utter inability to perform.

“I’m sorry... so sorry...” Jim whispered. It sounded broken and wavering. Spock pressed his eyes shut and swallowed hard.

“Me too, Jim. Me too,” he murmured.

 

K’troll had eventually to accept that his charges obviously were impotent. It was annoying, but they were looking pretty together, nonetheless. So what if he had utterly perverted something that should have been a tentative, new exploration of two young souls?

 

“I DON’T WANT TO ANYMORE, DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU FREAK?!” Jim was screaming at the top of his lungs. His fists were clenching rhythmically; it was obvious that he would’ve thrown something at the Vulcan if there had been anything in their little room.

Spock held his hands upward, their vulnerable palms extended to his companion in a placating gesture. After five years he was used to Jim’s emotional outbreaks every now and again when they were simply too exhausted of holding up their walls.

“I understand, Jim. But you have not seen the last digit of the security code. If we were to engage the alarm K’troll would – “

“DON’T SPEAK IS FUCKING NAME, YOU ASSHOLE!” Jim was kicking against the frame of the bed in his anger and Spock did not quite wince. Jim was strong and that had to hurt like hell, but he thought it wiser not to say anything. The young man threw himself upon the bed and started beating the pillow in a fit of childish anger.

“I don’t want to anymore. I want out of here. I want to go to the Academy. Damn you, Spock! Damn you for all and everything. If your fucking shuttle had not been wrecked by those slavers, you would not be here and I would not have bought for you and... FUCK you,” Jim screamed into the pillow. The Vulcan was quiet and sat down in the corner that was farthest from the temperamental human.

He said nothing; he knew Jim was prone to ranting and raving and saying things he did not really mean. He thought it better to let his companion cool down for the moment, although he, too, felt the restlessness and yearning to be free.

Precisely one hour later Spock was awoken by the door being thrown open and bouncing off of the wall.

“K’troll is dead!” came the scream of one of the maids. It took the alien a few seconds to realize what that had meant – and a few more to realize that they had seized Jim and were dragging his kicking and writhing body out of the bed.

“Hold him down! If we can subdue him, his pet Vulcan can’t do a thing!”

And how right they had been.

 

Spock had his arms slung around Jim in the darkness and his forehead was pressed against the shoulder of his companion. They had been squirming for quite some time before they had found a position that would give them maximum physical contact and now they were just sitting and listening with baited breath to what was going on outside the crate.

When the crate was moved, Spock’s fingers reflectively dug into Jim’s flesh until the human grunted in pain. He quickly let go of him

The top of the box was moved. Light flooded the crate and caused them both to blink rapidly. When they could see something they were greeted by the unfriendly faces of a three-eyed bald alien and the pitiless gaze of a human with dark hair and dark eyes.

“Yes. They were K’troll’s special servants. And they are already purchased. As I have said,” said someone out of their line of sight.

Spock could feel Jim start to shiver slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of their background story... so now you know >.o let's see, if the future is kinder to them... :(
> 
> Thank you so very much for the comments, they're so thoughtful and nice! I'm absolutely thrilled :)


	11. Chapter 7: Lay down your weary head, my child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None.

The following is the correspondence between one Doctor Leonard McCoy, currently residing in Ankh-mok city near Starbase 22 on the planet Reigar II, and Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.

The exchange took place in the course of one week.

 

.oOo.

 

To: McCoy, Leonard H., M.D.  
From: S’chn T’gai Sarek, Ambassador to Earth

 

Subject:

In response to your claim regarding the whereabouts of S’chn T’gai Spock

 

Doctor McCoy,

 

The claim you recently submitted regarding the whereabouts of S'chn T'gai Spock have been noted.

Please be advised that the 500.000 credits incentive was summarily revoked eleven point eight four standard years ago.

The Vulcan Embassy requests that you desist any further inclination to provide the Ambassador with illogically outdated attempts to collect upon the aforementioned incentive.

S'chn T'gai Sarek  
Vulcan Embassy  
ShiKahr, Vulcan

 

.oOo.

 

To: S’chn T’gai Sarek, Ambassador to Earth

From: McCoy, Leonard H., M.D.

 

Subject:

I don’t want the money!

 

Ambassador Sarek,

 

I can understand your reticence in believing my claim. However, you should not make the mistake in just disregarding my suspicions.

 

I know that your son has been kidnapped by slavers after your shuttle, the Tal-tor, had crashed some fifteen years ago and I know that his name was Spock. I can’t say, if the Vulcan I met was telling the truth or just pulling my leg, but either way, he and his friend really need help.

 

I don’t know how to handle this situation – the health of my own family is at stake here and that makes it impossible for me to go to the authorities; Vargaz has everyone here under his thumb anyway.

 

Do you really want to risk the life of your son? He could be it, potentially. Even you Vulcans can’t be so emotionally crippled!

 

... And I don’t want no goddamned money!

 

Leonard McCoy

Ankh-mok, Reigar II

 

.oOo.

 

To: McCoy, Leonard H., M.D.  
From: S’chn T’gai Sarek, Ambassador to Earth

 

Subject:

In response to your further insistence on S’chn T’gai Spock

 

Doctor McCoy,

Your persistence is admirable, despite public records which state plainly that S'chn T'gai Spock has been missing for fifteen point five nine years and is presumed deceased.

If you must insist upon continuing your endeavour to collect upon an incentive that has long been revoked, then I suggest you attempt to, at the very least, forge a modicum of evidence.

Have you genetic materials, Doctor, to substantiate your claims? Or perhaps a photo? Or, is it simply an illogical human emotion that derives pleasure in demeaning the death of my son?

Further unnecessary contact from you in regards to this issue will result in immediate legal action.

S'chn T'gai Sarek  
Vulcan Embassy  
ShiKahr, Vulcan

 

.oOo.

 

McCoy let out a long, slow breath while his eyes scanned the page for a fifth time. Somehow he hadn’t anticipated an answer – let alone a positive one. But this... this was something he could work with.

The Ambassador wanted a picture? Well, then a picture he would get! Just... how was he supposed to get his fingers on one? He hadn’t seen the two since he had given them the communication’s device two weeks ago. It was – hopefully – a good sign, but it didn’t help him in getting this whole business further along the way.

His only hope was that Vargaz would soon smoke himself into oblivion again with the Ruby and call for him. It would be time, if the guy stuck to his patterns.

 

Spock watched Jim with a certain air of anxiety. The human was unbelievably weary and at the same time seemed restless. He was prowling the perimeters of their small room, while blood red light from the sunset was filtering through the window.

Two weeks of working with the Crep’ka have left their mark on Jim. Spock had seen all those cuts and bruises on the golden tanned body and he suspected one finger was either broken or badly sprained, for it hat swollen dramatically after it had been stuck between two body plates of one Crep’ka and been squashed.

“May I help you somehow, Jim?” Spock said finally. The human growled.

“Not, if you can’t get Banta to show his ugly mug in the stables again,” he hissed. Spock cocked his head a little and clasped his hands together in his lap.

“He brings us every morning to our destinations. He is a quite... unpalatable being and you seem to be af – “ he stopped when Jim threw him a murderous look and amended smoothly, “ – you seem to have a certain amount of respect for him. Why would you want him to oversee you? A week ago you complained about his rude manners.”

The human growled again and threw himself upon the bed, making Spock bounce slightly on his perch on the edge.

“Forget it,” he murmured. Spock threw him a suspicious look.

“Is he part of your plan to hack into the panel?” the Vulcan said delicately. From the quick side glance Jim was throwing him over the swell of his biceps he knew that he had hit the mark.

“I hate it that you are so damned intelligent,” Jim complained and Spock slightly curled the left corner of his mouth upwards. He turned further towards Jim, fully intending on inquiring farther what this mysterious plan was all about – Spock could be patient as a Buddha, but if his curiosity was piqued he could not sit still for a moment. However, before he could ask, Jim turned swiftly around and pressed one calloused palm roughly against Spock’s lips.

The human’s eyebrows were furrowed and his head cocked to the side. Slanted black eyebrows drew upwards, watching as Jim put his finger to his lips in the universal gesture of ‘shut the hell up and listen’ and all of a sudden Spock was hearing it as well: a faint crackling and whistling.

“What the...” Jim whispered and both their heads turned at the exact same moment towards the bath. Only a split second later both young men were bolting from the bed and running into the tiny room.

Their knees hit the hard floor with an impact none of them was aware of and there was a short scrabbling of hands trying to simultaneously get to the little grate in the corner until Jim hissed in pain and drew his injured hand back.

He shot Spock an irritated look and his eyes narrowed when he saw the slightly smug twitching of lips, before they both concentrated on the crackling device Spock carefully cradled in his hands.

Jim started delicately turning one of the dials until the crackling and whistling started to become clearer and –

“-ear me? Damn it all, say something already! Don’t have too much time and – hello? Hello?! Does this work? Fucking technology – “

“Bones!” Jim exclaimed. His heart was pounding in his chest. Never had he been so happy to hear a voice other than Spock’s. There was a short silence on the other end, before a distinct sigh was heard.

“Ah. Kid. Is Spock with you?”

“I am, Doctor.”

“Good. Listen well, I don’t have much time. Don’t want Vargaz to pick up on the signal.”

“What is it, Bones?”

“Vargaz just called me. I’m to come tomorrow and perform an operation on Jim.”

“WHAT?!”

“Shut up. Are you injured?”

“Nothing that would warrant an operation.”

“Huh... We’ll just have to see. I’ll try to wriggle out of it. What’s more important at the moment: He said I should only come for Jim. But I need to see Spock as well.”

“Why? You can tell Jim everything, Doctor.”

“Shut. Up! We don’t have time, boys!” McCoy raged on the other end of the line. Spock and Jim exchanged slightly worried glances.

“I need to see you, Spock. It is vital. So – you need to find a way that would make Vargaz send me to you.”

Jim started to get restless and he balled his uninjured hand into a fist.

“How should we manage that?”

“He has to injure himself somehow, I reckon.”

There was an oppressive silence after that.

“Is it worth it?” Jim croaked after he had swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. McCoy answered immediately.

“It is. Trust me. Please.”

There was another short silence. Spock was just kneeling there, looking with a thousand-mile-stare at the device cradled in his hands.

When McCoy spoke again, it sounded harassed: “Are you boys all right?”

“We live.”

“Good. Keep on living. Till tomorrow. Oh, and Jim – don’t worry. I’ll try to get the whole mess sorted out.”

 

The sun had moved considerably in the short time they had been on the floor in the bathroom and when they got back into their little room, it was quite dark due to the fact that the moon wasn’t high enough to shine over the trees.

Spock went to the light switch, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Leave it,” came Jim’s husky voice. The Vulcan slowly closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent that was so totally Jim.

The cool human hand on his arm left him and Jim slowly went over to the bed, but he seemed to change his mind and diverted his path towards the barred window.

“They want to operate me, Spock. What do they want to operate?” he said, staring out into the cooling night. His breath was a damp fog on the glass of the window. Spock watched the dark, bulky shadow – in the darkness he was not easily to discern, even with good Vulcan eyes. Spock slowly stepped towards him, but halted at arm length behind his companion. He could feel a prickling at the back of his brain where all the severed and confused bonds were – Jim’s nestled in their midst, tiny and nascent and stubbornly fighting to prevail.

“Whatever it is – we will overcome it, Jim,” he murmured. It was awkward to say something like that. He was not the one of them, who was always holding them up with encouraging words. Jim was the one that held their relationship together. He was enthusiastic and energetic and full of decisions and stubborn, fierce intelligence.

He was the born leader.

Spock was more pacifistic in his reaction to the world. Part because of the fact that he could not stand the thought of causing violence, part because he had been –quite literally – beaten ruthlessly down each time he had tried to rebel.

However, it was time to try and give Jim something of the optimism back that he so often injected into Spock when the nights seemed to dark to bear.

Sometimes it wasn’t enough to just be willing to go to hell and back for someone. Sometimes nothing was enough.

“Spock. They want to operate on me. I don’t... I can’t...” Jim halted and he started slowly tapping his forehead against the window’s glass, “What do they want?”

The Vulcan stepped closer until he could see the little hair on Jim’s neck start to rise – a sure sign that the human could feel the breath of his companion on the vulnerable nape of his neck.

“Doctor McCoy is doing the surgery. Whatever it is – we have to trust him, that he’ll find a way out of it,” he said into the ensuing silence. Jim snorted; it sounded unhappy.

Spock stared at the trees outside, where the moon was slowly but surely starting to creep up over the treetops.

“Logically they won’t do anything that will render you unable to work. Vargaz has paid for you, he would not want to incapacitate you,” Spock continued.

Jim snorted again – it sounded noticeably more happy.

“You are utter crap in reassuring someone, Spock. Never met a guy that is more ill suited for that than you,” he chuckled. The Vulcan started to relax slightly and slowly, gingerly reached out for Jim. He slowly wound his arms around the hips of the human and after Jim did nothing to rebuff his advances, he delicately placed his chin on the shoulder of the slightly shorter man.

Jim blew a long breath out and leaned backwards against his friend.

“Sorry. Had a tiny nervous breakdown,” he admitted grudgingly. Spock stared out of the window and murmured a simple, “Yes.”

They were silent for quite a while. Neither of them acknowledged their embrace with words. They never did. Somehow the thought of talking about the way the air seemed to crackle sometimes between them, was daunting.

They were both quite young and up until now have only been in contact with twisted and perverted mockeries of relationships between people. What was between them was too sacred, too... innocent, even, to sully it with words.

“Hey, Spock.”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Have you ever had a night out? You know – going to the movies and having a dinner in a chic restaurant afterwards... maybe with your parents?”

There was a short silence and then Spock said with a little amusement in his dark voice, “I doubt Vulcan has cinemas. At any rate – I can’t seem to remember such an occurrence in my past.”

Jim snorted at the last and felt a little foolish suddenly for asking.

“Right – you amnesic bastard,” he murmured affectionately. He knew by the way Spock gingerly squeezed his middle that the Vulcan had recognized that it wasn’t meant as an insult.

“Spock.”

“Yes, Jim?”

“When we get out of here and when we’re in the Academy in San Francisco... I will take you out for a night. We’ll have the time of our lives, you know.”

Spock was silent for one breath; two breaths; three breaths. He felt the human’s body in his arms start to stiffen as Jim seemed to prepare for a speech of ‘It would be illogical to plan something like that right now.’

Spock closed his eyes and turned his head, the tip of his long nose grazing the tender lobe of a delicately rounded, human ear.

“I’ll look forward to it, Jim,” he murmured into the soft skin just below the ear, before he pressed a light kiss on it.

He could hear the breath rushing out of his ever present companion and knew Jim felt the frantic fluttering of his heart, when he slowly brought one hand back and placed it upon Spock’s flank, where he could feel the alien heart beating.

“Spock...” he murmured. It sounded unsure – exactly as Spock felt.

“Shhh,” the Vulcan soothed and pressed another kiss on the tender, vulnerable patch of skin. Jim’s body was rigid in his arms. It took a few agonizing seconds until it melted out of his body.

“Thank you,” he murmured suddenly.

“What for?”

“For being my best friend and companion, Spock. You make even a mystery operation less daunting.”

Spock said nothing, but he felt a certain warmth flooding through his being.

Jim gingerly placed his cheek against Spock’s and that was how they were standing for nearly one hour, contemplating that it sometimes just wasn’t enough to be willing to walk through hell for the other – that sometimes even young, fierce, prideful men had to be willing to step over their shadow for the other and take a risk with their feelings; and wasn’t that even harder?


	12. Chapter 8: Please, I'll be a good boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, swearing, humiliation.

“Don’t make me do it, Spock.”

“Jim...”

“Is there no other way?”

“Do you know one?”

“Spock, I... I really don’t...”

“Just do it. I reckon Banta will be here soon.”

“Spock, there must be another – “

“Jim!”

“AArrgh!”

There was the slapping sound of skin hitting on skin, when Jim’s fist landed hard on Spock’s left jaw. The Vulcan’s head snapped around, but he was standing stoically and still, not even raising his hands to protect himself, when the human raised his arm again and brought his fist down upon the left side of Spock’s head for another hit.

There was harsh breathing to be heard in the room, as Jim seized Spock’s shoulder with his left hand in order to get more leverage in his pounding of the aloof face. He wanted to close his eyes against what he was doing, but he could not – he had to watch where his hits were landing upon the Vulcan, so he did not seriously injure him. His stomach coiled hot and heavy into a tiny brick of pain in his gut, while he brought his fist down again and again upon his best – and only – friend.

His sight was getting blurry and he needed to blink a few times in order to clear it. Spock was not making even the tiniest of sounds. It was eerie.

The Vulcan even turned his head slightly into the forceful punches; only his slight staggering backwards indicated that they had any impact what-so-ever upon him.

“Damn it! Damn it all!” Jim cried, while reaching backwards with his elbow and gearing up for a heavy punch to the lean cheek he had been leaning against with his own only a few hours prior.

Spock stumbled backwards with the impact, a low cry being ripped out of his throat. He slumped heavily against the wall and his knees were visibly shaking. Jim made one step towards him. His face was pale as a ghost and the hazel eyes huge and full of nameless terror. His arm raised itself again – it was shaking like a leaf in the wind; Spock, however, who was shielding his face with his right hand, held his left up and mumbled slightly slurred, “Enough. I think you fractured my Os zygomaticum.”

Jim just stood there, staring blankly at him.

“What?” he croaked at last. One big, soft, brown eye looked up at him, while the other started to swell shut.

“You broke my cheekbone,” Spock explained astonishingly calm. The last bit of colour drained out of Jim’s face and he turned around, bolting for the bathroom. Spock closed his eyes and sighed deeply, when he heard the retching of his companion.

He regretted that Jim had to do this. However – in a war, sacrifices had to be made. The Vulcan’s tongue flicked out, licking at the sticky blood that was dripping down his nose and then at the split in his lip.

Every movement of his facial features ended in an agonizing pounding of his cheekbone; though he had to revise his earlier statement. It probably wasn’t thoroughly broken.

Jim came back after about three minutes. He looked about the same as Spock was feeling right now. He had a washcloth with him and was very gingerly spreading the cloth, that had been soaked with cool water, across the left side of Spock’s face.

“It was hopefully worth it and they don’t simply send you back to work,” Jim croaked.

Spock did not answer, but he silently hoped the same.

 

They did not have to wait long, until they heard the beeping of the panel outside that was announcing the arrival of Banta. Jim shot away from Spock’s crumpled form on the floor and quietly took his stance across the room. He did not even try to hide his right hand, with which he had pounded on Spock – the swelling of the already injured finger had wandered over his knuckles, that were painted with small drops of red and green blood where he had cut his skin on Spock’s teeth.

The bodyguard came to an abrupt halt just one step into the room, his nasty smile sliding off of his face and his three eyes jumping from one to the other.

“What’s happened?” he asked finally after no one moved. Jim just shrugged his shoulders, while Spock gingerly started to stand up. He had to support himself on the wall for the new elevation of his head made everything spin around him.

“Trouble in paradise?” Banta said with no small amount of spite, walking over towards Spock and gripping his chin with his right, meaty hand. The Vulcan winced ever so slightly, when his head was turned so that the Triptochid could survey the injuries on his face.

“Heh. The little tyke did a number on you, eh? Pathetic...” Banta murmured, while swiping his thumb through the emerald blood on Spock’s chin and rubbing it across a hurting cheek. He intently watched the streak he had left. His eyes seemed to positively smoulder and he licked his lips, until – he blinked and his grip on Spock’s chin grew almost painful.

“Didn’t you even protect yourself?” he asked suspiciously, turning his head and looking back at Jim, who stood there, his face as impassive as he could make it.

“You’re not injured,” Banta realized and his face started to cloud a little. He looked back at Spock and fletched his teeth.

“What game are you two playing?!” he hissed, ramming the head of the Vulcan back against the wall with the grip he had on him. Spock moaned faintly at the impact, his knees buckling a little before he had them once again under control.

Jim took a hasty step forward, his heart seemingly plummeting right into his stomach.

“What’re you doing?!” he exclaimed. Banta turned his head and threw him a baleful stare.

“That’s what I’ve been asking. Answer me!”

Jim scrabbled for ideas and licked his lips. His hazel eyes flicking towards Spock and back again to Banta.

“We got into a fight,” he said lamely. The Triptochid snorted.

“Yeah, right... And I’m Santa Claus.”

“He... speaks the truth,” Spock finally managed to garble out. Banta’s gaze shifted once again to the Vulcan in his grasp and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And you just let him beat you up?” he growled. Spock pressed his swollen lips for a second into a narrow line, before he said, “I am a pacifist. I abhor violence.”

Banta’s mouth fell open at that and he stared for a few seconds dumb and speechless at Spock. Jim had the feeling he could not get enough air into his lungs, until he realized that he had to exhale as well. Banta wasn’t as dumb as he looked – they should have realized that earlier.

Spock slowly closed his uninjured eye, preparing himself for another punch or anything the like. However, the punch never came. Instead, Banta started to laugh – a pitiless, sneering laugh that went right to the bone.

“I never heard something so pathetic. A pacifist? You actually let yourself get creamed by that runt over there? Oh man, that’s priceless... That’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages,” Banta laughed and rammed Spock’s head against the wall a second time for good measure, before he released his grip on him.

“You’re lucky, Vulcan. The Doctor is in the house. Originally just for your friend, but I guess it can’t hurt to let him patch you up again, eh?” Banta exclaimed mirthfully and turned his head in order to look back at Jim, who valiantly tried not to show any of his elation on his face – in fact he tried to look as confused as if he had heard the news for the first time.

“Why’s the Doctor here for me?” he said. Banta grinned, obviously enjoying to toy with him.

“You’ll see. Have to thank your friend here for the delay – but I’ll come back for you,” the bodyguard said and continued with an almost purr, “I promise.”

Jim felt shivers of trepidation run down his spine and he curled his uninjured hand into a fist, while he just stood there and looked after Banta and the staggering Spock, as they left the room.

He did not know if he should feel triumphant or not.

 

“Here. Brought you another patient – he obviously was eager to see your ugly mug,” Banta growled, shoving the swaying Spock unceremoniously down upon a chair. Spock tried to look around and take in his surroundings, but with the pounding and swirling of his head it was almost impossible. His mouth was open and he was panting like a beast, due to the tissue in his nose having swollen to the point of blocking the airway completely.

He could hear an annoyed grunt from the other side of the room.

“Damn it, can’t you keep better track of them? He looks like he’s been run over.”

Spock identified the gruff voice as the one from the Doctor; he was inexplicably thankful for the presence of a man he barely knew. Banta snorted and sounded genuinely amused, when he said, “They got in a lover’s snit. The little human seemed to have totally freaked out. Don’t you wanna patch him up? I can always get him back to work, after he has had his new shackles.”

Spock’s head snapped up suddenly. He ignored the pain drumming through his skull in favour for fixing Banta with his good eye and asking rather breathlessly, “New shackles?”

No one had said anything about new chains. What was that supposed to mean? Something in his face must have given away his confusion and trepidation, for Banta started to grin like a maniac.

“Aww aren’t they cute? So confused,” he purred and patted the injured side of Spock’s face. The Vulcan twitched back from him and McCoy’s voice was to be heard – it sounded a little shrill, “Get your claws off of him and get out. I haven’t got all day and I still need to do the operation.”

Banta just grunted. The three eyes of the Triptochid lingered for a little while longer on the bruises on Spock’s face, before he turned around and sauntered out of the room.

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Spock croaked, “What new shackles?!”

“Calm down. I’ll tell you everything I know, just don’t start hyperventilating on me,” the Doctor growled, while stepping into Spock’s line of sight. The Vulcan wanted to tell him that he would not hyperventilate, but somehow he had no breath and no matter how fast he drew air into his lungs, it did not seem to help... and the room was beginning to spin again, while the words of Banta ricocheted around his head and made his heart race in his side.

“Aw damn...” he heard the mutter of the other man and after a few seconds he felt warm hands land heavily on his shoulders.

“Breath, Spock. Slowly. In... and out. In... and out,” came the commanding voice. It was loud and calm and it actually penetrated through the hazy fog of panic, that had been enveloping the alien, helping him to clamp down on all those emotions and shove them deep down where they could no longer hinder him.

“Very good. Now. Got yourself back under control?” McCoy asked. He went slightly into his knees and searched for Spock’s gaze. The Vulcan had to blink a few times, but nodded finally. The Doctor let out a long breath.

“All right,” he murmured and then again, “all right...”

Compassionate eyes were taking his face in and the man grimaced.

“Damn it. Did you have to damage your face, of all things?” he said at last and turned away.

“Doctor... what is happening?” Spock asked. He did not understand, why it was so bad that he had injured his face, but was willing to forego this information in favour of what was really on his mind right now. He looked around. The furniture in the room had been shoved to the walls. Only a large desk was standing in the middle. Next to it on a low table were various medical utensils and with a slight start the Vulcan realized that this room was supposed to be the place where Jim was going to get... operated.

“You... have not managed to convince Mr. Vargaz...” he said slowly. McCoy, rummaging in his bag, shook his head. He sounded very grim, when he answered, “No. I have not.”

He came back to Spock, holding a few devices in his hands. Spock recognized the dermal generator; the other things, however, were unfamiliar.

McCoy drew another chair right in front of the Vulcan, laid the devices down and started to gently rotate the face of the alien in order to look with a critical eye at the damage. While he examined him, he said with a strained voice, “He wants me to implant a chip into Jim’s back.”

Spock curled the fingers in his lap into fists.

“What chip?” he said silently, his voice barely more than a breath. McCoy started chewing on his tongue, took up one of the other devices – it looked like a fat pencil – and started rubbing it gently back and forth across the injured cheekbone. Spock immediately felt warmth radiate from the tip.

“It’s illegal as far as I know. Normally only used when dealing with unruly animals – dogs or these Crep’ka or sum such. You press a button on a little remote and electrical charges are being transmitted right into the central nervous system.”

Spock slowly closed his good eye. He did not even realize the way he was digging his fingernails into the balls of his hands.

The silence in the room was oppressive, while McCoy silently worked. None of the two needed to ask why this was done – it was glaringly obvious.

“Can’t you do anything?” Spock croaked after a while. McCoy gnawed at his lower lip. He took the pencil-like object away and very gingerly pressed with the thumb of his other hand on Spock’s cheekbone.

“How’s that?” he asked. The Vulcan only nodded. The area was still tender, but the throbbing had stopped. The Doctor sighed and got to work on the swollen nose with the pencil.

“Why did you need to see me?” Spock asked further. He saw the hesitation in the human and his slanted eyebrows drew together. He started to get wary of the Doctor’s behaviour. McCoy stared at the long nose, his thumb smoothing every now and again across the straight back, before reapplying the pencil. He tried not to look into the questioning brown eye of his patient, which was not lost on Spock.

“Doctor McCoy...”

“I’d prefer not to tell you.”

Spock stiffened.

“Why?”

“It’s... it’s just, well,” the man mumbled and rubbed the balls of his hand with a sigh inside his eye-sockets, “I simply don’t want you to get your hopes up. I think it’s safer if you simply do not... know.”

Spock stared at McCoy for a long time, until he said, “And why did you need to see me, if you do not want to talk with me, Doctor?”

“I need a photo from you.”

“...Excuse me?”

Spock must have misheard. This request was just far too ludicrous in this situation. The doctor only growled and put the pencil down in favour of something that looked like a square of cloth. He pressed it against the swollen eye of the Vulcan and pressed on a particular place on the cloth. It vibrated to life on Spock’s skin and the alien very nearly jumped in surprise.

“I need to make a photograph of you; and it’s damned inconvenient that you two managed to beat you nearly unrecognizable,” he hissed. Spock, uncharacteristically enough, bristled and drew his eyebrows together, “How should we have known that you need my face intact, Doctor? You did not want to divulge any precious information.”

“Yeah, how should I’ve known that ‘hurt yourself’ would cause you two to brawl like professional wrestlers?!” he exclaimed in agitation. The Vulcan bit down on his ire and said as calmly as possible, “Would you just tell me what this is all about?”

“... I can’t. You have to trust me.”

“It gets increasingly more difficult, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed and slowly took the cloth away in order to look underneath. Whatever the result of the strange vibration, it did not seem to satisfy the Doctor. He pressed it against the eye once more.

“Yes, I know,” he mumbled and did not quite meet Spock’s accusatory gaze. The tension between them was thick and Spock started to wonder if it would be such a good idea to leave Jim in the care of this human being. Up until now the Vulcan had thought McCoy was genuine, but this whole situation was just... strange and wrong.

“Vargaz seems to have requested these things two weeks ago. I was actually in the room when he made the deal, but I did not know what it pertained,” McCoy said into the silence and tipped Spock’s head back, so he could start using the dermal regenerator while not needing to hold the cloth in place.

“If I understood correctly, he has commissioned a new collar for you. With automatic chains.”

Spock did not answer to this and McCoy worked in silence. If he noticed the tears glimmering in the dark eyelashes, he did not comment upon them.

 

When everything was said and done, McCoy took out a small device and said in a monotone, “Look at me.”

Spock solemnly turned towards him. The left side of his face was still mottled in various shades of green and his jaw as well as his eye showed clear signs of a the hits Jim had landed upon him, but his face as a whole was recognizable again – at least McCoy hoped.

When the Vulcan stood up with an air of utter hopelessness, McCoy just could not help to say hastily, “Spock. Wait.”

The Vulcan turned back towards him. His eyes were dull and lifeless. The Doctor closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists, before he said something, that went against everything he practised, but... dire circumstances called for dire measures.

“I will try to hide a scalpel on Jim’s person. He is to take it to your room and hide it there with the communication’s device. When the time has come, you...” he took a deep breath, “you’ll have to cut the chip out of his back. Do you think you can manage that?”

Spock stared at the human across the room. He slowly closed his eyes and when his eyelids lifted once more, the soft brown depths were suddenly no longer dull and lifeless, but filled with a fierce fire.

“Yes, Doctor.”

He clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed down low. “Thank you.”

“No.” McCoy sounded angry and stepped towards him, thrusting his hand at Spock almost violently.

“You don’t bow before me like a servant!” he hissed. Spock blinked a few times, lowering his gaze from an angry, craggy face towards the extended hand. He very gingerly gripped it. McCoy shook it once.

“Take care, Spock.”

“You as well, Doctor.”

 

When Banta stepped inside, he already had Jim in his wake. He shoved the human inside the room and almost simultaneously grabbed for Spock, growling, “You’ll come with me.”

Spock and Jim exchanged looks, when they passed each other.

No one noticed their hands ever so slightly brushing in an attempt to comfort and soothe.

 

Jim was pale like a ghost, the trepidation clear in his face, when he laid down upon the desk in the middle, rolling on his stomach. He had tried himself at cocky bravado at first, but it soon had melted away in the face of what was about to come. McCoy stepped up to the desk and looked down upon the body of the young man. The golden tanned skin was mottled in bruises and cuts. The Doctor felt his throat starting to tighten at the sight. It never was easy to see a victim of abuse – never mind how often even a Doctor had seen one.

He thought of his internship and all those unfortunate souls he had worked with and could not stop himself from gingerly placing his hand between Jim’s shoulder blades and slightly rub the ostensibly only patch of skin that was still unwounded.

The body beneath his touch grew unbearably tense and he quickly withdrew his hand. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll heal a few of your bruises first,” he murmured with a husky voice.

“Why bother? It’s only going to get worse from here on out,” Jim croaked from where he had buried his face between his arms. McCoy swallowed convulsively.

“Yeah, well, I...” he started and then a sudden thought came to him, “... before the Academy accepts you, they make a physical examination, you know? You need to stay in good shape or otherwise they don’t take you in.”

The young man surged suddenly up with such force that he nearly toppled off the desk. His hazel eyes were fixed in a cat-like stare at McCoy.

“What?” he hissed. McCoy raised his eyebrows slightly and threw him an inquiring gaze. The young man narrowed his eyes.

“What do you know of Starfleet Academy?” he growled, watching the Doctor with such disdain that the hackles of the temperamental Georgian man started to rise.

“I’m going to enrol in six months myself, you twerp!”

“You? But you’re... old.”

“I’m only thirty!”

They stared at one another with narrowed, angry eyes, until Jim turned around and let himself plop down on the desk again.

“I’m going to be your future Captain, you know,” he declared. McCoy’s mouth gaped slightly open.

“Ex-excuse me?!” he stuttered.

“Jep. Going to enrol and going to kick your ass when we’re on a ship... Bones.”

The Doctor’s eyebrows drew together in a ferocious scowl, until he noticed the trembling of broad, muscled shoulders and the stiffness in the back of his patient. Slowly the ire drained out of McCoy and he reached for his dermal regenerator.

“Let us talk about Starfleet,” he mumbled.

 

They talked, while he worked. Jim was prattling on about everything under the sun. One topic flowed to the other and McCoy listened, humming now and again as a sign that he was still there, while he tended to all the bruises.

He understood the need of the young man to gloss over the fact that he was scared shitless and he did not deny it the kid. He himself felt utterly helpless, his hands practically bound in the face of the inhumanity of everything.

When he took a hypo, though, and injected its contents into Jim’s back right next to his spine, the young man suddenly grew silent. McCoy could hear his breath come in silent gasps and closed his eyes. He reached for a scalpel.

“Show me the chip,” Jim demanded, his voice hoarse. McCoy hesitated.

“Show me the fucking chip!” the young man suddenly barked and the Doctor swiftly put the little square plate next to Jim’s head. Hazel eyes stared sullenly at it. McCoy bit at his lower lip.

“I could always say that it has malfunctioned...” he ventured, his fist closing tightly around the cold metal in his hand.

“Vargaz would just order a new one... and maybe they leave Spock alone, if they think they can get one up on me,” Jim nearly whispered, never even blinking – just... staring. It looked eerie. McCoy had to look away.

“Spock’s going to be on your ship as well?” he asked and bowed over the unblemished back of the young man.

“Yes,” came the answer. Jim’s voice cracked at the single syllable, “Going to be in the Science department...”

“You two’ll make an awesome team,” the Doctor said. His hand was not trembling in the least, when he poised the sharp edge of the knife over the area he had numbed earlier, “And you’re going to make a fine Captain, I’ll reckon.”

Jim’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. He had a death grip on it. His shoulders were starting to vibrate and when he spoke next, his voice was high and childlike.

“Is this going to hurt, Bones?”

It was clear that he was not talking about the operation – rather he talked about the results it would entail.

McCoy took a deep, silent breath.

“You’re going to master it. When one wants to take care of hundreds of people on a ship, one has to be prepared to take pain for them... Captain.”

He started to cut under the silent sobs of the young man.

 

ZZzzzzt.

The sound was innocent enough. It was smooth and metallic and silent; and it broke Spock’s heart utterly. He stood in the middle of a cold room in the basement of the mansion and his eyes were fixed on the wall just behind Vargaz’ head. There were three men currently present in the room, other than Spock; Vargaz, Banta and an individual Spock had never seen before and guessed he would never see again. The man had loosened his old shackles and brought another collar around his neck and other shackles around his wrists.

The chains attached to them were no longer threaded through a ring on the front of the collar, but rather disappearing into two holes.

ZZzzzzt.

Spock’s arms were drawn up until his hands were right at his neck. He was stubborn in his insistence not to show any of the panic and terror he felt on his face. The plain and simple fact of being vulnerable and without means to defend himself in this position, was burning like acid through his being.

Vargaz’ eyes glowed, while Banta started to grin with relish.

ZZzzzzt.

Spock’s arms were lowered to chest height and the corners of his mouth tightened in the indignity of the stance.

“Perfect,” Vargaz said and turned towards the man at his side, who just shrugged.

“Credits?” the newcomer asked and closed the bag he had brought with himself.

“Are transferred to your account as we speak.” He looked up to Banta. “Bring him to the door.”

The smile of the Triptochid vanished and he hesitated.

“Boss... I should not leave you alone with the Vulcan,” he said reluctantly. Vargaz’ eyes narrowed.

“Just do what you are told, Banta,” he growled threateningly. The eyes of the bodyguard slipped away from his boss and he nodded.

“Of course, sir,” he murmured. Spock stepped out of the way of the two men, as they passed him and went out of the room. The silence was oppressive and Spock stared at the shackles that had been thrown carelessly to the floor.

He had worn them for exactly 10.14 years. And now they were gone – replaced by a way more efficient means of torture.

Spock was jolted out of his thoughts by a hand on his injured cheek. He was not entirely sure if he had repressed his flinch and fixed Vargaz with a wary glance.

“What happened?” the man asked, his eyes roaming the bruised left side of the Vulcan face. Spock delicately turned his head away from the unwelcome touch.

“Me and my companion had a little altercation,” he said slowly. Vargaz clicked with his tongue disapprovingly and took his hand away. He stepped back and observed Spock leisurely.

“Kneel down,” he said. Spock hesitated for an instance, before he gracefully got down upon his knees, his knees spread and his gaze on the floor as Vargaz had taught him and Jim two weeks ago.

“Perfect...” he heard the man murmur and slowly footsteps were circling him.

“You are way more obedient than your friend. Are Vulcans a submissive race?” Vargaz asked, while he surveyed the vulnerable, creamy neck of the alien that was exposed to him. Spock’s shoulders stiffened slightly. He clamped down on the feeling of irritation and said as placidly as possible, “I would not know. I have next to no knowledge of my ancestry.”

Vargaz drew his eyebrows up, clearly intrigued – which Spock could not see, of course.

“Why not?” he asked and slowly walked around the Vulcan again. Spock pressed his lips together into a tight line, refusing to say anything. He did not divulge his past on a whim.

The corners of Vargaz’ mouth curled upwards.

“Well, will you look at that... you can be stubborn after all, Vulcan.”

He bent down and gripped Spock’s chin, raising the unresisting head and turning it every which way, surveying the alien features with interest.

“You are beautiful... Has anyone told you that before?” Vargaz said in a low voice and grinned, when the whole body of the Vulcan jerked backwards.

“Tell me – has K’troll ever used you or your friend for sexual gratification?”

Spock’s eyes twitched away from the penetrating gaze and the intimate question; it was a huge mistake. He didn’t even need to think of a suitable answer, for a slow grin had already spread across Vargaz’ face.

“Aww you poor thing. Such a beauty and you had to make do with an old, crazy bastard like K’troll,” the man cooed and gave Spock a pat on the cheek that was just short of being a light slap.

“Get up. I sadly have no time to play with you today. Maybe another time.”

Spock, who was just in the process of rising smoothly to his feet, staggered slightly and his eyes flew startled to Vargaz. The man grinned lopsidedly.

“Don’t look like that. Maybe I’ll let your little friend be in the room, so you don’t have to be afraid. Eh? God, how old are you, anyway?”

“...Twenty-three.”

ZZzzzzt.

His hands again at his neck.

“What was that?”

“Master. Twenty-three, Master,” Spock said hastily, internally ashamed at the way he had immediately buckled. Vargaz laughed and shook his head.

“Twenty-three and still a spineless little kid, eh? Your friend has balls for the two of you, it seems. Ah, well. Only plays in my hands, does it not, my beauty?” Vargaz taunted, shoving Spock out of the room.

The Vulcan’s gut was a hard knot somewhere in the middle of his body. He could not stand to be insulted by everyone he met just because he had decided not to do violence, if it could be avoided. Had other Vulcans to fight with these sentiments as well? He suddenly longed more than ever for his own people. For someone to guide him and tell him what was real and what just smoke and mirrors.

 

Vargaz paraded him through the mansion with his hands up at his neck.

Spock did not spare a second thought for the chains lying forgotten in the basement.

 

“Take it with you. Don’t loose it and hide it with the communicator. Do you understand?” McCoy hissed, while he shoved a scalpel into the waistband of Jim’s trousers and looked intently at the gaunt face of the young man. Jim did not even ask what that was about, he only nodded and pulled his shirt over his trousers.

McCoy watched him with a troubled expression, but he could not further inquire as to his mental state, for the door was opened and Banta sauntered in.

“Are you finished, Doc?” he asked, all three eyes fixed on the pale, blonde human. McCoy straightened his stance and threw his shoulders back.

“He’ll have to rest for the day,” he said. The corners of Banta’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, he can rest. No problem. Wouldn’t dream of over exerting him, now, would I?”

Jim shot McCoy a last oddly helpless look, before he was guided out of the room by the bodyguard.

 

Jim and Spock stood in front of each other. Jim’s gaze was fixed on the new shackles. They were shining in the sunlight streaming through the window.

It was a fucking mockery.

He looked up into Spock’s face. It was a mask of stone and determination. Jim slowly drew his shirt up and over his head. He let it fall down onto the ground. Spock gazed at the glinting metal stuck in the waistband of his trousers until the human turned around.

The dark eyes of the Vulcan could easily make out the red line right next to the spine in the middle of the back. He could also see the raised square of skin that was indicating the chip lying beneath.

When Jim turned back, they stared at each other with grim lines in their faces, that made them older than they actually were.

Spock did not tell him about Vargaz. The shell-shocked expression in the handsome face of his friend told him enough of how long ago his pain threshold had been crossed.

The two crawled wearily into the bed and pressed against one another, seeking for a steady rock in midst of this madness.


	13. Chapter 9: When you play with fire, you'll get burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing, Violence

When Spock awoke, it was from moist, hot breath ghosting over his face and neck. His internal clock told him that it was just before sunrise and they had approximately thirty minutes until Banta would come and get them for their daily work.

There was another burst of hot breath, but the Vulcan did not open his eyes; he refused to acknowledge his surroundings just yet.

“Why are you already awake, Jim?” he said with a very low voice. He did not want to break the fragile silence of the morning.

Now that he was concentrating, Spock could feel the mattress dip on both sides of his shoulders where Jim was currently bracing himself with his arms.

“I wanted to watch you, while you could not ask stupid questions,” came the response. It did not sound in the least as acidly as the words implied. Slanted eyebrows drew slightly together in confusion; Jim immediately reacted.

“Oh, no, no... don’t do that. Don’t frown,” he whispered and rough fingertips were rubbing insistently at the crease that had built. Spock could feel them trembling and the skin to skin contact enabled him to pick up on the human’s emotions. Fear, longing, trepidation, determination.

“Jim...” Spock began with a sinking feeling. His eyelids started to flutter just before he began opening them. The hand that had been smoothing his forehead slid hastily down and pressed over his eyes.

“No, don’t. Just... Don’t. Please, Spock?” Jim said insistently. His voice was wavering just that little bit. Spock clamped hard down on the urge to start squirming. Something was definitely wrong – very wrong.

“What is it, friend?” he said after Jim remained silent for a while and only his breathing was to be heard. It was stuttering slightly every now and again. The human sank further down, pressing his forehead against Spock’s and croaking, “I just wanted to see how peaceful you look, while you sleep.”

The Vulcan slowly and gingerly raised his arms. The chains were tinkling like the clear song of early birds in the fragile atmosphere of the morning. He did not have to search for long – long, pale hands soon were clasped around the human’s flanks. Thumbs were swiping in broad, soothing circles over a firm stomach. He could feel the frantic pulsing of Jim’s abdominal artery.

He only needed to move his hand a little further up the back and – yes. There it was. The hard square directly underneath Jim’s smooth, golden skin.

The human’s breath hitched for but a second, before it resumed in a pace that was way too fast. It burst rhythmically across Spock’s lower face. It smelled warm and sweet, despite the fact that the human had not brushed his teeth yet.

“Don’t hate me for it. Please, Spock. Don’t hate me for it,” Jim murmured suddenly. Spock drew his eyebrows together again and wanted to ask what the illogical human was talking about this time, when Jim suddenly pressed his lips against Spock’s.

The first thing the Vulcan realized was, that Jim’s lips were more pliant and warm than the last time. The second thing was, that they were moist.

Human lips started to suckle gently at Vulcan lips, placing open mouthed kisses from the left corner of the mouth to the right and cradling the full lower lip of Spock between his own in order to gingerly tug at it.

Spock’s breath hitched – not so much from the exquisite sensations the talented human was eliciting from him, but more from the emotions that started to flood him. Never... never... never had Jim felt this warm and content while kissing Spock. The Vulcan was glad he was lying down on the bed for he would have twitched away with his head in surprise if the mattress had not prevented the movement.

On a purely logical level Spock knew that in a normal scenario kisses were only exchanged on a willing basis – but the scenario in which he and Jim had been imprisoned, had been everything but normal.

When a cool, soft human tongue gingerly traced the shape of the thinner upper lip, he opened his mouth without hesitation and without thought. Jim emitted a deep rumbling sound when he carefully dived into the proffered, moist entrance. It was quite a curious sensation... as if they were kissing for the first time.

When the Vulcan started in on the slow exploration and slipped his own pointed, green-tinged tongue out, he licked over Jim’s lips. They tasted salty.

Spock emitted a low rumbling sound deep in his throat – it sounded soothing. His hands travelled from the flanks he had been clutching, upwards until he could cradle Jim’s face in them. His thumbs started sweeping across moist cheeks.

‘Don’t cry, Jim... never cry...’ Spock thought foggily, while slowly raising his upper body and toppling Jim over with ease. He held on to the human helping him slowly down, so they had not to break the slow, delicious swiping of tongues against one another or the wet mouthing of open, panting lips. Spock was now the one leaning over the human and when he finally raised his head and looked down on his ever present companion, Jim looked once more like he always did. There was no trace of tears on his flushed cheeks or in the glazed shine of his eyes.

Spock looked solemnly down upon him. His lips – slightly swollen and flushed green from the kissing – were narrowed into a severe line, like they always were. Jim, however, did not seem put out by it. He looked a long time into soft, brown eyes and then grinned rather self-deprecatingly – something that was in and off itself unusual and caused Spock to raise a slanted eyebrow.

“I don’t know why...” Jim began and his hazel eyes wandered away, looking everywhere about the room; just not at Spock. The Vulcan was unperturbed and said smoothly, “It was to be expected. We have been living together in close quarters these past 5.3 years.”

The human laughed slightly – it did not sound happy; it sounded almost maniacal.

“I know, but... Spock. After all this time. After what we were forced to do. Why now? Why at all?” he croaked and his lips started to tremble minutely, before he pressed them into a narrow line. The Vulcan had no answer for it. They were so close that they could smell each other’s breath, but their heads were turned in different directions as if determined not to look at one another, while their cheeks suffused red and green.

“I can feel you, Spock. In my head. I didn’t tell you, but... I could feel you when I was with Banta. I could hear your voice in my head,” the human suddenly said hastily as if he feared he would loose his bravado half way through. The Vulcan stared at him with a certain wonder and reached out for Jim’s face.

“You... do? That is curious,” Spock said slowly. Jim shot him a confused look, dislodging the fingers that had been gingerly stroking across a point next to his nose that was now tingling not only on his skin but also... in his head. It was disorienting.

“What do you mean ‘curious’? You don’t seem surprised,” he said while slightly narrowing his eyes. The Vulcan looked as guilty as Jim had ever seen this creature look. His eyebrows drew together.

“Spock...”

“Jim, look, I...”

They were interrupted by a low growling voice from the entrance.

“Aaahh. I see I should’ve come earlier. Oh well. Come, I don’t have all day.”

Banta was leering at them. The two young men were quickly out of bed.

 

“Well? What was that about? Your little lover’s spat already over?” Banta asked as soon as he had closed the door of the stables behind them. Jim was silent and chewed on his tongue. He stomped over towards the harnesses of the Crep’ka that he needed to clean while Banta observed him with a smug grin.

“Aw... what – no smartass answer? Are you, by any chance, miffed, my little treat? Have I interrupted great declarations of love?” he taunted. Jim whirled around, the muscles of his neck bulging in his effort to keep down.

“I’m not your ‘little treat’, you sick bastard,” he hissed, golden eyes sparkling in ire. Banta’s lips stretched wide, exposing two rows of oddly pointed teeth.

“Did I hit a nerve? You two seriously fuck?” he leered, two of his eyes wandering down Jim’s body, while the third eye was still fixed upon the golden face that was slowly but surely suffusing red. Jim turned around and pulled the door of a little, wooden cabinet open with unnecessary force.

He was not entirely as agitated as he was appearing to be. A good amount of it was cold calculation. He watched Banta’s movements through the tiny mirror in the cabinet while he ostensibly searched for the leather wax with which he would prepare the harnesses.

Banta scrutinized the broad back of the human and licked his lips.

“You are totally wasted on him. It’d be a shame to loose you to some boring vanilla sex. You look gorgeous, when your blood paints your skin, did you know that?” Banta said, his voice becoming husky, “So beautiful after you were in my Iron Maiden. Could make you so much more beautiful.”

All the little hair on Jim’s body prickled to attention and stood up in disgust. He snatched the leather wax out of the cabinet and threw the door shut. His gut was churning in repulsion and sweat was starting to make the skin between his shoulder blades itch. He did not want to think of the gruesome hours he had been captured down in the basement with Banta. The Triptochid clearly was insane.

Banta watched Jim intently. He slowly crossed his arms in front of his chest and his eyes narrowed in suspicion when he realized that the human would not rise to the bait.

‘Guess I’ll have to dig a little deeper... I’ll get you back in my playroom, little human,’ he thought while he started to slowly make his way through the stable. He made a show out of looking intently at everything and searching for any flaws in Jim’s work.

“Of course it’d be interesting to have the Vulcan as well... I am intrigued by his green blood. He looked pretty, yesterday; Don’t you think? The swollen eye – the blood running out of his nose... Not entirely as intriguing as you, but... I’m sure his blood would look perfect on the barb wire of my special chair – and it would be worth a try to see how strong the fabled Vulcan control really is,” Banta mused aloud. He heard a clatter behind him when the jar with wax fall out of Jim’s lax fingers and hit the floor. In for the killing blow.

“Maybe he has the same brand as you... ‘K’, wasn’t it? Could brand him new... Make sure he knows, to whom he belongs now. He’s shy, that Vulcan of yours, isn’t he? He’ll be like putty in my hands, when I order him to go on his knees and suck my cock, if he doesn’t want me to break your neck.”

Banta had been counting on it and yet he was not prepared for the scream of enragement that suddenly burst forward from the human and the feeling of a considerable bulk ramming into his back and throwing him against a few shovels and hay forks that were mounted on the wall.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Jim screamed while driving his knee up. He wanted to ram it into one of the kidneys of the man – he hoped Triptochids possessed them – but Banta was too large and so his knee collided only with the muscle tissue of the alien’s thigh.

 

Spock’s head snapped up from his work in the field. The human that was surveying him, threw him a wary glance.

“What?” he asked while playing nervously with the remote control in his hands, that would cause Spock’s chains to shorten, if need be, “Go back to work, Vulcan.”

Spock ignored him. His slanted eyebrows were drawn together, while he stared in the direction of the stables that were quite a distance away. Had he heard a... scream? He tried searching for the nascent bond that was connecting him to Jim, but he could not access this area of his psyche so easily.

 

Banta’s hand surged backwards and he gripped Jim’s wrist, pulling the human with seemingly no effort whatsoever forward, smashing him in return against the wall of the barn.

The laughter that was emitted with the Triptochid’s dark, gravelly voice sounded terrible.

“Finally! Came out to play, my little treat? Had to wait long enough, hadn’t I?” the bodyguard exclaimed while he twisted the arm he still held behind Jim’s back. He drew it easily up, until he could hear Jim moan faintly in hurt. It brought a surge of unholy arousal through the alien.

“Yeah, that’s right. You are so easily manipulated, are you not? Stupid human. Stupid, stupid human,” Banta purred, bringing his head down and licking over Jim’s ear before biting into the cartilage – hard.

Jim’s eyes practically bulged out of his head and a strangled yelp escaped his throat, while he struggled against the grip of the bodyguard. Something warm was dripping down the side of his face and his ear pounded in agony where Banta had bit him.

“Oh... we can do better than that. I want to hear your beautiful voice, little human. Let me hear you sing,” Banta growled and drew Jim’s arm further up his back. The human was determined not to emit even one little noise, but the agony shooting up his arm made tears sting in his eyes.

Banta drew his lips back over his teeth in a ferocious snarl and gave the arm another little jerk. Jim felt something pop in his shoulder.

He could not contain the loud, agonised scream that was ripped out of his throat.

 

Spock immediately abandoned his futile search for the link when his sensitive ears very clearly picked up on another scream that travelled the still distance. He ignored the alarmed exclaims from the human at his side and just threw the half full bag of corn down on the ground before he started to run like the devil himself was on his heels.

The man, who was supposed to watch him, stood uncertainly for a moment; he really did not like the thought of using the device in his hand, despite what Mr. Banta had said. However, he disliked the thought of getting into Mr. Banta’s or Mr. Vargaz’ bad graces even more and so he started jogging after the alien.

 

“You are exquisite,” Banta panted into Jim’s wounded ear, pressing himself against the young man and rubbing his arousal on the small of Jim’s back. The human was valiantly trying to blink away the dark dots in his vision and ignore the angry pounding in his shoulder.

“Shall we try out your new toy? We have to see if the Doctor has made his work properly, after all,” the bodyguard growled and let go of Jim, stepping away from him and watching as the man immediately flipped around, his left hand pressed against the throbbing right shoulder and his hazel eyes fixed defiantly on Banta.

The Triptochid made a show out of slowly drawing the innocent looking black object out of his pocket. He held it up between his fingers, so Jim could see it.

“Well? What do you think? Looks sleek, doesn’t it?” he sneered, watching Jim like a predator would watch his prey.

The human felt his gut starting to twist agonizingly and his chest heaved frantically.

‘Don’t let your fear overwhelm you. You have a goal, Jim. Don’t loose it out of sight,’ he thought, while at the same time pure terror swamped his insides and made his back clammy and moist. How would it feel like? He had no idea how the device worked. It scared him shitless.

Banta’s lip curled away from his sharp teeth and he gazed at the remote control lying innocuously in his broad palm.

“Let’s see how much you can handle, before you piss yourself again like a little girl, eh?”

Jim felt his face suffuse a deep shade of red and his throat began to constrict painfully. He tried to swallow, but it was almost impossible to do; His mouth felt like sandpaper.

All he could do was watching helplessly as Banta lowered his thumb agonizingly slowly. The thought, if he was only imagining the slow-motion or if the Triptochid was actually moving so slow in order to torture him more, flittered through his head, but in the end it was a moot point.

Jim could not see the press of the innocent button.

But he felt the second it was pushed down.

Agony suddenly flared up from the resting place of the chip near his spine and raced through his nerve endings like an acidic electrical surge. The muscles in his back cramped reflexively and caused him to bow backwards, while a loud scream was ripped out of his throat.

Never had he been aware of how many nerves his body possessed, until all of them seemed to be simultaneously on fire. It was hell – and he was right in the middle of it.

His knees wanted to buckle and he nearly fell down upon the ground, while surge after surge of shocks flitted through his body – especially up and down the column of his spine – and made him nearly unable to properly work his lungs. His arms started flailing jerkily around, until his palm hit the wall he was standing at and scrabbled for purchase in a mad rush to keep on his feet and try to get a grip on himself.

How much time had elapsed? An hour? Two? Five Minutes? It was practically impossible to tell. He could hear Banta’s laugh – it accompanied his agonized gasps and low screams, driving itself through his head and seemingly settling unerringly at his brainstem; never to be forgotten again.

There was a sudden pause in the unrelenting shocks driving up and down his body and a sob of relief was wrenched out of his throat, until Banta pressed the button again and the whole ordeal began anew.

“Stop! Oh God, just stop!” Jim cried out. He could feel spit dripping down his chin, mingled with blood from where he had bitten his tongue and he was simply unable to wipe it away. The thick muscles of his thighs were cramping from the electrical charges and Jim dug his fingernails angrily into the worn wood. He did not want to go upon his knees – not in front of Banta. Never.

And yet... his body quickly seemed to work itself towards a pain limit. Tears of anger prickled his eyes and the tendons in his neck strained outwards, as a new surge ripped his head back and forced him once more to bow at an uncomfortable angle backwards.

His knees were just about to give away, when a new voice entered the cacophony created by Banta and himself. It was an angry, loud snarl.

Jim’s head snapped around just in time to see Spock ram his shoulder into the Triptochid’s flank, neatly swiping him off of his feet. The pain ended simultaneously with Banta loosing his grip on the remote control and slamming heavily onto the ground.

The human doubled over, still jerking and twitching, while his muscles continued to react to phantom charges. His nerve endings felt like they were burning up and his lungs seemed to quiver in their effort to establish a normal rhythm again, while he watched on as Spock sat astride the bulky form of Banta and simply pounded mindlessly into the face of the bodyguard.

The sharp slap of skin upon skin was to be heard as well as the mad tingling of chains and the snarling of a Vulcan warrior unleashed, while Spock fought with a ferocity Jim had never before seen on him.

Banta was for a few seconds simply overwhelmed with this new situation and simply let the formidable strength of the Vulcan pummel him, until Spock brought his arms high up over his head and clasped his hands together in a clear effort to smash the head of the other alien in. Banta wasn’t called a bodyguard for nothing. His training kicked back in and one of his arms rushed upwards in order to block the strike, while he drove the meaty fist of his other arm into the vulnerable area right below Spock’s ribs.

The air rushed explosively out of the Vulcan and he faltered for but a moment in bringing down his arms – enough for Banta to buck the practically non-existent weight off of him and turn them around.

“What are you doing here?!” the Triptochid growled. He was bleeding a watery, purple substance out of his mouth and it sprinkled Spock’s face, as he spoke. The Vulcan bucked, bringing his right fist up and connecting it with the right side of Banta’s skull. The Triptochid winced, but did not fall to the side as the dark haired alien had hoped.

“You call that a punch? Never had a brawl, eh? Come, I’ll show you how this works – make your face even prettier, eh? How ‘bout the right side, so it matches the left?!” Banta screamed in almost maniacal glee, bringing his fist heavily down upon Spock’s right temple. Bright light exploded in Spock’s vision and his body went lax for an endless moment, as he tried to stop the swirling around him. The Triptochid brought his arm up again, while his other hand pressed down on the broad metal collar around the Vulcan’s neck.

Spock’s eyes widened in alarm and he began squirming, the heart in his side clenching painfully and all the little hair on his body standing at attention in the face of the trepidation that started coursing through him.

Banta would kill him. He was sure of that. He would not hold back until he was lying lifeless on the ground – and who would protect Jim then? The Vulcan struggled, his fists making contact with steel-like muscles. Any second now, the Triptochid would bring his deadly fist down. Any second. Any sec –

“Hey – Banta!” piped another voice suddenly in. Two heads turned in surprise – both had momentarily forgotten the nearly incapacitated human; and they were both learning in that moment, that it was fatal to forget or underestimate James Tiberius Kirk in a battle.

Jim was standing right next to them, his feet set apart in a fighting stance, his upper body curled forward and his teeth exposed in a ferocious and slightly insane looking grin. In his hands he was gripping the handle of a shovel.

Banta’s three eyes widened, but he had not enough time to roll out of the way of the heavy swing.

The broad metal connected with a satisfying plonk, wrenching Banta’s head around. The bodyguard grunted, before he crumpled under the force of the heavy blow, rolling disoriented to the side and clutching at his head with faint moans.

Jim raised the shovel again high over his head. There was murder in his hazel eyes – plain, unadulterated murder. He wanted to smash the bald head of Banta in. He wanted to wade through the sticky remnants; no, scratch that, he wanted to severe the head from the sadistic bastard and take it home as a trophy and plant flowers in the three eye sockets.

“You damned, fucking – “ he growled, his voice vibrating with all the destructive emotions currently coursing through his body and tainting his blood.

“Jim! No!” Spock said, hastily shoving at the heavy body that was still lying halfway upon him. “Think of Starfleet!”

“I am thinking of Starfleet, that’s why I’m going to bash his fucking head in and get out of this dump and – “

“You can’t. Jim. James...”

Finally he could struggle to his feet, seizing the shoulders of the human that did not avert his eyes from the groaning Banta for even one second.

“If they ever find out, you have killed a man... They won’t let you on a Starship, Jim.”

Spock stared at him. A muscle in Jim’s cheek was still twitching from the shocks from earlier. It had been horrible to enter the stable and see the contorting body of his best friend and the reminder of what had happened not even five minutes ago nearly let his resolve concerning Banta crumple in on itself.

The arms that were still holding the shovel high up over his head, were starting to shiver with the exertion. Spock fancied he could see the struggling thoughts in the shifting colours of the hazel eyes and his gut started to clench painfully, when he realized the thirst for revenge was slowly but surely winning out.

ZZzzzzt.

Spock’s hands were wrenched away from the shoulders of his companion and drawn up to his neck. His eyes went wide and he stared in confusion at Jim, who turned swiftly around. There were three men standing in the door of the stable, one of them holding the remote control to Spock’s shackles.

Their gazes were swiftly jumping from the shovel in Jim’s hands to the blue-green bruise slowly spreading across Spock’s right temple, down to Banta, whose face was drenched in his sticky, purple blood and who was slowly sitting up with a clear struggle.

“Hands off the shovel!” one of them demanded. There was a loud clatter, as the metal hit the floor. Jim’s arms slowly lowered and he just stood there, dumbly staring at them, while Banta snatched the device that had fallen out of his hands earlier from the floor and threw it towards the three men.

“Hold them at bay,” he ordered, while he struggled onto his feet, gingerly touching his face.

Three eyes slowly rotated towards the two young men; his face distorted into an ugly mask of rage and hate and unholy glee.

“I’ll talk to the boss. He’ll know what to do with their... insubordination,” he growled and stumbled out of the stable, leaving Jim and Spock standing in the middle like recalcitrant schoolboys.

 

“Spock?” Jim whispered, while watching the three men, that were holding a respectful distance towards them.

“Yes, Jim?” Spock sounded weary and kind of defeated.

“Don’t hate me...” the human mumbled and Spock drew his slanted eyebrows slightly together. He got slowly but surely fed up with the antics of Jim and his mood swings and – “... because I’m such a fucking genius.”

Spock could just in time clamp down on the urge to snap his head around and stare at his companion.

“What?!” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth and quickly schooled his features into solemn lines, when one of the men started to frown.

“I’ve got it.”

Spock took a deep, calming breath.

“You’ve got what?”

“The pin from Banta’s tie.”

Spock could not help his mouth falling slightly open. He felt a tiny nudge on his thigh, where Jim prodded him with the pin in question. It was a simple, narrow metal rectangle. It was perfect for the panel in their room.

And suddenly – Spock understood.

‘Don’t hate me for it. Please, Spock. Don’t hate me for it,’ Jim had said that morning. He had not been talking about the kiss that had followed – he had been talking about his masterful manipulation; about the way he had used Spock to rile Banta up and get him to stay in the stables with him, so he could... so he could find a way to get near the bulky alien and steal his tiepin.

Spock was not sure if he should marvel at the genius of his friend or if he should be miffed at having been left totally out of the loop.

“I hope it was worth it, Jim.”

“It was. Trust me.”

 

Vargaz sat behind his desk, his fingers laced together on its surface, watching the bloody face of his bodyguard with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

“So two boys have managed to outsmart you,” he said after a while. The bulky man was clearing his throat and wiping at the blood on his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I... I wouldn’t say that, boss. They have simply – “

“They both have devices that render them next to helpless. And now you are standing in front of me, bloody and crying that they have beaten you?!”

Vargaz’ voice rose to the end and he was standing up from his chair, palms flat against the surface of his desk and bending forward. Banta took a step away from him and cleared his throat again. He looked as uncomfortable as possible.

“Well, I... That is... I had not anticipated the Vulcan to suddenly show up and...”

“Enough.” Vargaz’ eyes narrowed and he righted his posture, tugging at his shirt and looking Banta over one more time.

“We’ll talk later about your... failure. First they need to be punished. I won’t let them mock me in this manner.”

Banta nodded slowly, wincing at the pounding in his head and rubbing his forehead gingerly.

“May I suggest the mines, boss?”

The man slowly rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Hmm... yes. The mines sound good.”

“Very well. I’ll bring the Vulcan to them right away – “

“No. You bring the human.”

Banta’s mouth fell open and he stuttered, “B-but boss! The Vulcan will be way more efficient than the human and – “

“Don’t make the mistake and think I was as dumb as you, Banta,” Vargaz interrupted him harshly again and started to walk around his desk and towards his bodyguard. “I can imagine only too well how this whole mess started – and I won’t give you the opportunity to reward yourself for your failure by letting you get your hands on the human.”

He stood in front of the burly man and poked his pointer finger into the muscled chest.

“You’ll get just as punished as they – no fun with the slave, until I permit it. And if I ever find you playing with my possessions again, you will be very sorry indeed. Have you understood, you piece of shit?!”

Banta felt a clammy wave of fear radiate from the point of contact – it was only the tip of Vargaz’ finger upon his person, but it was enough to send the two hearts of the Triptochid into a frenzy.

“Y-yes, boss. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, boss.”

“Excellent. Now see that you get the human into the mines. A week or two will probably be enough, I reckon. I’m curious as to what will happen, when they’re separated for this length of time.”

“Yes, boss.”

Vargaz turned around to his desk and while he walked, he growled, “Oh, and Banta? ... Clean your mug, I don’t want you to drip on the carpet.”

 

.oOo.

 

On the planet Vulcan...

 

Ambassador Sarek sat down behind his desk after he had eaten his meal and turned towards his computer. He still had several pieces of correspondence he had to answer to, before he could quit for the day and head back home – to Amanda.

He scanned the many e-mails again, starting an order of importance in his head, when his eyes fell upon the newest entry and the air left him in something that could have been described as an angry hiss, if one had been inclined to do so.

Silvery, slanted eyebrows twitched in irritation, as he surveyed the name of the sender: McCoy, Leonard H., M.D..

Hadn’t he made it clear enough that he did not wish to be harassed in this manner any longer and that he would take legal actions, if the human did not desist? He had been the Ambassador to Earth for many years now and yet there were still human traits that simply slipped right through his grasp. Like this urge to cause others pain – simply illogical.

He read the Subject line of the e-mail. Your proof.

His lips narrowed for just the tiniest bit and a tingle started in the tips of his fingers. He did not want to admit to it, but even after all these years these mails somehow got to him. Amanda called it ‘hope’. He called it ‘foolishness’.

He had stopped telling his wife of the mails after one year. To see the clear, aching heartbreak on her human face every time the supposed hints regarding Spock’s whereabouts revealed themselves to be clever or not-so-clever hoaxes, was... unpleasant.

His right eyebrow drew downwards a little and he sat back in his chair, pressing the tips of his fingers against one another. Logically he should simply erase the mail and ignore the human. He would probably loose interest, when he realized that he could elicit no reaction whatsoever out of the Vulcan. Or he should probably make his threat reality and get into contact with the necessary authorities.

His hand moved towards the mouse, the cursor hovering above the ‘erase’ for quite some time. He should simply forget it. It was not logical after fifteen years to still... ah... hope.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years full of grieve and self-accusations, of ‘what ifs’ and ... hope. He thought of Amanda and her sad, human eyes and of Spock, who had inherited them and closed his own in agony, as he clicked...

... onto the subject line.

When he opened them again, his Vulcan heart skipped a beat or two, before starting to flutter frantically. He did not even see the short line of there you have your proof.

All he saw was the face of a young Vulcan male, staring solemnly into the camera the picture was made with. The left side of the face was mottled in bruises, the slanted eyebrows drawn ever so slightly together in a show of displeasure.

It could have been any Vulcan. Any Vulcan in the Universe – but his eyes. Those soft, brown eyes, that seemed not to even try and hide the emotions of anger and bleak despair – those were eyes Sarek would never forget, even if he hadn’t had an eidetic memory.

A parent always recognized his or her child. Even when an eternity of fifteen years had passed.

He sat there for an almost obscene amount of time and simply stared, his dark eyes wandering over the pleasantly symmetrical features that were somewhat obscured by the green-blue bruises. His eyes flicked down towards the neck. One could not see much, but – was there metal?

Sarek wrenched himself almost physically out of the stupor he had fallen into and ordered his fingers into working motions. Spock seemed to be alive.

He had to contact the... good... Doctor.

 

.oOo.

 

On the planet Reigar II...

 

Joanna was sitting at her father’s computer and was playing, while her Dad stood in the kitchen and tried to cook something other than burned toast – he really was no culinary genius. She was humming and had her chin rested in one hand, while she operated the mouse with the other. Her Dad had no really fun games on his computer – only those really old ones like Solitaire, but... oh well. What kids hadn’t to put up with, with their parents.

She blinked, when a mail popped up in the corner of the screen, turned around in her chair and screamed, “Daa-aaaad!”

“Yeaaaah?”

“You’ve got an eeee-maaail!”

There was an annoyed groan, a loud clunking and first a loud and then, after realizing that his daughter could hear it, a not-so-loud swear.

“I’m somewhat in a bind, sweety – Can’t you read it for your old man?”

Joanna shrugged her shoulders and turned back around, clicking the mail and breathing deeply in, in order to scream across the distance (of one room), “Doctor McCoy, I may have been a bit rash in discarding your claim. My apologies. I have scrutinized what you have sent me and there is indeed an uncanny resemblance that I wish to further explore, please – “

“What?!” hissed her father – directly into her ear. He had come out of the kitchen after the first few words and was staring at the screen. Joanna jumped with a startled scream and looked angrily at her father.

“Daaad!” she muttered annoyed, before turning back to the screen and finishing with an air of defiance, “ – please expect me at 1700 earth standard time at Starbase 22 tomorrow in order to discuss further actions. Ambassador Sar... Sarek – what a stupid name – bla, bla, yadda, yadda... what’s with all those strange names at the end?”

She sat back in her chair, clearly satisfied with herself and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“So – when’s dinner ready?... Dad? Hey...!”

She tugged at her father’s sleeve. He was simply staring at the screen with a slightly open mouth, until he dislodged her tugging hand from his person and murmured, “We’re going to order somethin’...”

 

.oOo.

 

At the same time on the same planet at another place...

 

Spock stood at the window in his and Jim’s room. Alone. He felt restless and twitchy. The way Banta had dragged the struggling, protesting human with himself simply did not leave his head. He had no idea where Jim was or even how he was faring.

They had not loosened his own shackles until way into the afternoon and even now they were only lowered towards chest height. He had not been able to do anything. He bit his tongue – hard – in an effort to remain calm and collected. Wherever Jim was – he had to remain cool headed and keep his wits about him.

But the pictures of the last time Jim had come back from a trip with Banta were flitting around in his mind and made it hard to breath – really hard. So hard, that the Vulcan sank to his knees without realizing it and gasping in a fashion that seemed to take the air more from his lungs than deliver it into them.

‘Jim... Jim, where are you?’


	14. Chapter 10: Drive home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Abuse, violence, mind altering substances, hints of Claustrophobia, hints of Achluphobia ( fear of darkness )

This is what happened to James Tiberius Kirk during two weeks in the mines...

 

“Where are you taking me?!” Jim demanded, nervously wriggling round in front passenger seat of a hover car that Banta had shoved him unceremoniously into, after he had dragged the human out of the stable.

“The boss has given you new work,” the Triptochid said. He was watching the young man keenly with one eye, while two others were directed at the dirt road in front of them. Jim pressed his palms against the window of the car and stared at the corn fields that rushed past them.

“What new work? And what is happening with Spock?” he asked a little shrill. When he had started his little manoeuvre in getting the tiepin that was securely in his pocket, he had been prepared for physical punishment. Not for being taken away.

“You’ll be working in the mines for the next days.”

Jim sat back in his seat and turned his head towards Banta. The Triptochid had cleaned the majority of the blood from his face, but there was an ugly bruise spreading where Jim had hit him with the flat of the shovel and there was still blood trickling out of the gash right next to one of the three eyes.

“What mines?” Jim asked, but Banta kept silent.

They were driving for almost twenty minutes, until the human piped up again.

“You’ll be bringing me this whole way every day?!”

Banta snorted.

“In your dreams. You’ll be living there for the duration.”

“What?! No way! I won’t be living there. I want to go back to Spock,” Jim hissed and his face suffused practically the moment the words left him with a red blush. Banta’s laugh was raw and without any mirth.

“Do you sometimes stop and listen to what you’re saying, kid? You’re practically begging for your Mama. You should just learn to watch your tongue. I said it to you before and I’ll say it again. You will be sorry, if you do not keep your fucking mouth in check.”

It did not even sound as if Banta wanted to insult him. The Triptochid sounded almost... jovial. Jim’s hand curled around the edge of the seat and he gripped with all his might, while waves of dread washed over him.

 

“Here’s a new worker for you. And here’s his leash,” Banta said, throwing the small device that was linked to the chip in Jim’s back towards an older man. The man had short, steel grey hair and a hard face that made it already clear that he was a no-nonsense man. They were standing at the foot of a small hill right next to the entrance of a shaft that was looking positively primitive. On the side was a tiny hut where the foreman probably lived. While the two were talking, Jim stared at the ominous looking gaping mouth of the hole. One could not see far into it – after a few feet everything was already engulfed in darkness. He listened intently, but could only hear very faintly every now and again a clonking from inside.

Sweat started itching at the nape of his neck and his hands were curling into loose fists while he stared into the impenetrable blackness. He jumped when a hard hand landed on his shoulder and turned him harshly around. He was face to face with the old guy who looked him over.

“Hmmm... you have muscles, all right. Maybe you’ll be usable,” the man murmured. Jim stared for a second or two, until he heard the humming of the hover car behind him.

His eyes widened in alarm and he turned hastily around.

“Hey... HEY! Don’t leave me here! What the fuck, Banta?!” he screamed, waving his arms in a wide circle and running a few steps behind the turning hover car. His stomach was a hard, unyielding stone somewhere in his middle and thoughts of ‘What is going to happen now?’ and ‘What is going to happen to Spock?’ were rushing through his mind, until he felt for the second time that day the agonizing sensation of electricity cramping his muscles into twitching madness.

He tripped, falling hard on his knees and crying out due to him not having been prepared for the sudden onslaught on his still tender nerves.

The muscles in his back started to feel like insects were crawling all over them, forcing him to rear back up, his head stretched backwards and his throat bulging in its need to scream his agony out into the world.

It ended just as sudden as it had come. Jim fell down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He lay panting and twitching on the floor, staring at his hand that was uselessly laying just in front of his face. A shadow fell over him and a shoe slightly nudged at him.

“Let that be a lesson to you, boy. Banta told me, what you are. I have nothing against you personally, but I have my orders. And I – unlike you – always stick to orders. So you better learn to obey. Down there, no one will help you. You understand?”

Jim only rotated his eye towards the man, squinting up, while he asked himself dimly if he would ever be able to stand again. His still shivering muscles said: no. The man raised his steel grey eyebrows.

“I asked you something.”

Jim still did not answer. The man snorted and shook his head.

“We’ll be having fun – you and me. My name is Birch, by the way. Now get up – don’t have all day.”

He nudged Jim again with his boot and turned towards the darkness of the shaft. Jim’s eye rolled back again, fixing his hand for a few long seconds, before he watched how the fingers curled into the dirt on the floor, gripping it hard.

He was practically running on autopilot when he forced his muscles into some semblance of submission and struggled onto his feet.

 

“We’re mainly looking for Dilithium crystals. There are a few on the planet and Starfleet is panting for it – they pay pretty well for them. But there have been other interesting ores as well, so keep your eyes peeled, boy. You’ll use that pickaxe I gave you. Everything that looks remotely valuable goes into the bag. I’ll come and look for you every six hours. The battery for the flashlight in your helmet runs for 72 hours straight – so you don’t have to fear to stand in the darkness too soon. If I were you I would not try to flee – the elevator we have ridden down here is linked with a panel in my hut. Every time it gets used, I’ll be privy to it.”

“How long do I have to work?”

“Until you can’t anymore.”

“Where do I sleep?”

“Not my problem.”

“What do I eat and drink?”

“I’ll be bringing you something when I feel like it. But here’s a bottle of water.”

“Do the other workers have to work under the same conditions?”

“No. They are humans. You are a slave. Now get to work.”

 

Jim stood in one of the shafts. He slowly looked around. It was dark and the yellow light of the flashlight painted shadows on the jagged ceiling and walls. The air was moist and extraordinarily warm. He had never worked in a mine, but he was pretty sure that this wasn’t how it was usually supposed to be. There were scarcely any wooden beams protecting the halls from simply crashing in. He hadn’t seen any of his co-workers as of yet and wondered if Birch would even find him down here. What, if he tripped and hit his head and was lying in a corner where no one would find him in this darkness? Cold shivers ran down his spine and he gripped the handle of his pickaxe with a crushing grip. He felt dizzy and weak – the day had been a rollercoaster of emotions and exertions and took his toll on his body.

What Spock was doing right now? Had they brought him back to his work or had they given him a new destination as well? The thought made his stomach cramp and the human staggered to one of the moist walls in order to crouch down and lean against it. Spock was a tough guy – no one would live through what he had without being tough as nails. But he also didn’t really place much worth onto his own safety. He was ever only thinking of Jim – his companion, his friend, his... leader. What would he do in his believe to keep Jim safe?

‘He’ll be like putty in my hands when I order him to go on his knees and suck my cock, if he doesn’t want me to break your neck.’

The words from Banta, mere hours ago, were ghosting through his head and he moaned faintly.

‘Spock... be on your guard, please,’ he thought and let his head fall back against the stone wall. He closed his eyes wearily and was almost sure he could hear the dark voice of his companion murmur in his head, ‘Watch out for yourself, Jim.’

 

“That’s all you’ve done?! My little niece could work more than you!”

“Yeah and I’m sure you already tried that out, eh?! I’m hungry and I’m tired, damn you! How long have I been down here? Is it day? Is it night? Not even cattle gets treated this bad!”

“Yes, you finally got it, didn’t you? You are less than cattle, you are a possession, you freak! You’ve been down here for three days and all I got from you was backtalk and one meagre, little Dilithium crystal. You think you can get away with that?”

“Well, you’ll have to put up with that, don’t you? If I simply do not find more, I do not find more, get that in your damn head!”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we? How about I’ll take that loaf of bread here simply back and we see how long you manage until you cave in?”

“Wait – what?! I haven’t had anything to eat in three days! Give that back you asshole!”

Jim lunged for the loaf of bread Birch was holding in his hands, but before he could really get near him, the man had pushed the button on the device and the human was crumpling to the ground, where he lay as a twitching, screaming mess.

Birch looked coldly on and then released the pressure on the button. Jim lay panting and wheezing on the ground, his limbs twitching occasionally.

“Maybe you’ll learn now that some fights are simply not worth it.”

And Birch left.

 

Jim had no clue how he was looking. He hadn’t bathed in quite a while and the rocks down here were like coal, smudging all over his hands. He thought that he was probably approximately four days down here now. His body was in agony – never before had he thought about the ramifications for his physiology that a deprivation of sun and fresh air would cause. He had no orientation whatsoever. He slept when it felt right and he did not know how long he slept – he could not tell from the way he felt because the hard stone floor made his muscles ache all over, regardless of how long he rested.

Additionally, Jim felt the gnawing hurt of hunger again. He had hoped – almost prayed – not to ever get into this situation again. It was hell all over. It was Tarsus IV and Roy and Gary Mitchell and Kodos. It was shame and humiliation and the loss of innocence.

He was stumbling through the shafts and hacking every now and again with that pickaxe against the walls without any real motivation to find anything. He wondered in his more lucid episodes where the other workers were, because he never found anyone, or if he simply walked in circles. And he wondered why every person wanted to beat him down and make him a pawn in their game. And did they not realize that he simply was not to be broken? That he had determined very early in his life that nothing whatsoever would keep him from the destination his dead father had given him?

 

Birch brought him water. Water, water and water. He had enough water. He would probably never run out of it. But it simply was not what he wanted. He wanted the bread that the man brought with him every time.

He was staring at it like a starved dog, crouching in the darkness and waiting to lunge, if it wasn’t for the device the man held openly in his hand and that was making Jim squirm backwards every time.

“You really are a fucking animal, aren’t you?” Birch said after a while. It was his twentieth visit – the only form of orientation Jim had at the moment – so he thought he was probably down here now for five days.

He said nothing, simply watching Birch. His hazel eyes were glowing eerily in the light of Birch’s flashlight. The foreman broke a clump of bread and threw it in the dirt in front of Jim’s feet. The young man immediately snatched it and stuffed it into his mouth. Birch’s lips stretched in disgust and he shook his head.

Jim heard him murmur something of ‘Have to keep him alive, at least,’ and then he was gone.

 

His shivering hands were almost compulsively crawling into the pocket of his trousers and fingering the tiepin he had there. It was some kind of haven in the insane pool of darkness he was in. He thought of Spock a lot. Near-continuous. He wondered what his friend was doing and if he was fairing all right without his human. If the light was glinting off of the shiny cap of black hair right now, or if it broke the soft, brown darkness of his eyes into several shades of warm amber.

Jim never had been afraid of the dark, but down here in the sticky mine it started to get to him. It started to creep up unto him, while he slept curled in a corner and startled him awake. It crawled into his nose and down his throat and slithered with clutching claws down into his stomach in order to tear him apart from the inside out.

It occurred to him sometime on the seventh day, right after Birch’s twenty-eighth visit, that he was fleeing the shadows and darkness of his grave here for the darkness of black hair and the shadows inside oh-so-expressive eyes. He thought that was quite funny.

He started to laugh and couldn’t seem to stop it – he laughed and laughed, until his belly hurt. He only stopped when he felt the moisture dripping from his cheeks unto his clenched hands.

 

“I’ll give you the whole loaf. Do you want it?” Birch asked, looking at the swaying young man in front of him. It was hard to see the beautiful human male from ten days prior in the creature that was standing two metres away. He was smeared in the dirt and smudge of the mines, his hair oily and limp and his eyes wide and blinking in the light of the additional light source. Birch had pity with him.

But why was this young man just so stubborn? Why was he simply refusing to cooperate? Hadn’t Banta told him, that he was only two weeks down here? Why did he not simply sit the time out and showed at least a semblance of good will? Very curious.

Those golden eyes were blinking at him. It was unsettling. The boy must be starving by now – he had only given him the utmost needed rations and yet he stood there oddly defiant and croaked with a voice that clearly had not been used often the last few days, “Is it day or night?”

“It’s afternoon. And it’s raining.”

The bottom lip seemed to wobble as if this little information was just about to make the boy cry. Or was it only the flickering light of his slightly demolished flashlight that seemed to make it tremble?

“What are they doing with Spock?”

“I don’t know any Spock.”

“He’s my friend. I came here with him. They separated us.”

Birch shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m just the foreman of this mine. Mr. Vargaz or Banta don’t inform me of anything that does not pertain me.”

“We have never been separated for so long. I could feel him in my head the whole time... but it is getting weaker and weaker,” Jim whispered. Birch felt slowly but surely uncomfortable. Was the man even talking to him? He seemed delirious.

“I won’t work as long as you don’t give me Spock,” he said and it sounded as petulant and as defiant as if a child would have said it. Birch’s eyebrows shot up.

“You are not working, because your friend isn’t here?” he said incredulous. Smudged eyebrows drew together in a stormy expression and Jim balled his hands into fists.

“I want to know what they are doing with Spock!” he screamed and Birch’s hand flinched towards the device he had clipped on his belt. Jim’s hazel eyes jerked towards the movement and he immediately took a step backwards.

Birch swallowed his fear down and straightened his shoulders. He held the loaf of bread up.

“Do you want it or not?!” he asked with a hard voice. The young man took a step towards him and stretched his arms out. There was pure and utter greed in his eyes.

Birch drew his arms a little back, out of reach and said, “First you ask me for it. Then I’ll give it to you.”

He did not know what he had said that was so bad, but it was like watching a candle being blown out: all expression fell from Jim’s face and he looked for a few eerie moments like an android. Emotionless and blank.

He let his arms fall down to his sides and stared at Birch for an indescribable amount of time, until the foreman had enough and hissed, “That’s not too much, isn’t it? You just beg nicely and you’ll get something to eat.”

Jim shook his head once, then twice, then started to shake it like a dog, who had just come out of the water, while backing away. Birch drew his lips up over his teeth and broke a little lump off of the loaf. He threw it at the retreating figure with a snarled, “Fucking freak!” and just left.

He would have to tell Banta that the boy obviously had lost his mind while he had been down in the mines. Utterly nuts the kid.

 

Jim crouched to the floor and picked the bread up. While he ate, pictures of Roy flooded vaguely through his mind.

‘I just want to watch... I’m not going to touch you. And afterwards you’ll get something to eat. It’s just a job, you know?’

Never again. Never again. The dead, cold feeling that had hollowed him out in those weeks of prostitution had never left him entirely and he would not sell his pride again.

His hand slid into his pocket and he touched the tiepin. Ridiculous that of all things something of Banta would help him keep his grip on insanity. He started to laugh again, when the irony of the situation hit him. This time he laughed himself into an uneasy sleep.

 

Sometime after Birch’s forty-eighth visit Jim got woken by a grinding and a slight trembling all around him. He jerked up from his curled position on the floor and scrabbled for his helmet, flicking on the light, while the grinding got louder and trembling more pronounced. Little stones were rolling from the walls and the moment he realized what was happening was the moment it was too late.

“SHIT!” he yelled, curling himself together into a small ball while all around him a slide of stone, dirt and mud started.

He jerked his knees upwards, when something hard hit his left foot and a strangled whimper escaped his throat. Was he going to die? Would the rocks crush him? God, he did not want to die. Not now, not here. He still had to get onto a Starship and explore the universe... He still had to tell Spock how much he meant for him... He still had to make his promise towards the Vulcan true and treat him to a night out in San Francisco with a movie and a dinner...

While these thoughts flitted through his mind, his surroundings came slowly but surely to a halt. Every now and again the soft rolling of little stones was to be heard, but everything seemed to have settled enough for the human to gingerly sit up and look around. The shaft he had been residing in was now a little cell, imprisoning him in walls of impenetrable stone and darkness. When he stretched out his arms to each side, he could touch the moist surface surrounding him.

His breath started to come in short, little bursts, when his heart begun beating faster. He was trapped. He was trapped inside a tiny hole and he had no knowledge if the rest of the mine was even standing anymore. Was he buried alive?

“Oh God, oh God... please, no...” he croaked, curling in on himself and clutching his head. While he breathed, he noticed that the moist, warm air of the shaft was slowly but surely changing – it was becoming... sweeter. Or was he just imagining it?

What should he do? The beam of light emanating from his hat was flickering every now and again due to a rock that had hit it and wasn’t providing enough light for him. He could just make out the rubble that had cut him off of his surroundings. He crawled towards it and started pulling and pushing at the stones and the dirt. His arms were trembling and weak – the long days without proper nutrition were taking their toll.

“I don’t want to die... Please...” he whispered desperate and clawed at his only means of escape.

 

He could not say how much time had elapsed. He could only say that all of his fingernails were torn and some not even there anymore – the tender flesh of his bare fingers was aching and bleeding – and he felt weak and lightheaded from the sweet smelling air around him.

Jim crumpled together at the foot of the mountain of rubble and drew his knees up towards his torso. He simply had no strength left.

His head fell back and he closed his eyes, deeply inhaling and holding it for a second, before forcefully letting the air rush back out. What, if Spock was here? What would happen now?

‘He would tell me that the sweet smell in the air is probably due to some chemicals in the unknown ores around us, that has now been compressed into this little space,’ he thought and tears prickled in his eyes that he energetically blinked away.

“Sometimes it’s okay to cry, Jimmy. You know, I have cried a lot, after you haven’t come back home from Tarsus IV. I have cried because I have sent you there and because you were could not be found even under the many dead and nobody could tell me, where you’ve gone off to. Sam has cried too – secretly in his room. He thought he was too old to cry openly with his mother. But you are still my baby boy, Jimmy. You can cry with me.”

Jim raised his bleary head, staring at the picture of his mother crouching in front of him, with calm expectations. Somehow it did not seem strange that she was here. After five years she was here in a little hole somewhere on a planet he didn’t even know the name of and it seemed perfectly... normal.

“Mum,” he murmured and rested his chin on his knees, watching her with tired eyes. “I wanted to wait until the whole mess was over – but I was not careful enough.”

“I know, Jimmy. I know of Roy and Gary Mitchell and the men that got you in that car and dragged you to Kodos. I know all of it.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“A was a little. At first. But you were a little boy, Jimmy. Merely fifteen. You were afraid and without any family. Do you still have the scrap of paper your foster Mom has left you?”

“I... no. I wanted to keep it, but ... It was in my room in K’troll’s estate and I hadn’t had the time to grab it and – “

“It’s okay. You still have it in your mind, don’t you? What did it say, Jimmy?”

A dry sob heaved out of his throat and his arms trembled when he curled them tighter around his knees.

“Thank you.”

“That’s right. Thank you. She thanked you for not eating their food. You did a good cause, James. That is nothing one should be ashamed of. Your father would have been so proud.”

He shook his head frantically, the oily strands of his fringe slapping against his temples, while snot started to slowly creep out of his nose. He sniffed mightily and croaked, “No he would not. I have done such terrible things. I have been so desperate to get something to eat that I have... I have...”

He began to sob and turned slightly away from his mother. She looked on with her expression of sad compassion. The expression he remembered from past times – the one she had worn every time Jim had been crying about his dead father.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Jimmy. No one blames you for it.”

“Frank would, if he knew...” he croaked.

“But he does not know. Only I know, James. Your Mum knows these things, right?” she crooned and reached for him and he swore he could feel the warmth of her hand on his arm.

“Where is Sam?”

“He’s out with his girlfriend. You know – Aurelan.”

He nodded. It made sense, yes. He had been a little jealous of Sam and his pretty girl. They had been perfect together. They had looked always happy. And Aurelan was really something and...

“You like Spock, don’t you?”

He flinched away from the words. His mother smiled slightly.

“You’ll have to tell him how you feel, Jimmy. But you can’t, if you keep sitting here.”

“I’m going to die, Mum.”

“You are, if you do not get a grip on yourself and do something about it,” she said, her face becoming stern and fierce – eyes blazing just like her sons.

“You’ll get out of here, Jimmy. Your father never would have given up. He had fought until the very end. You can do everything you want and I will always back you up – but when you give up, Jimmy... When you truly give up – than I’m disappointed in you.”

He sobbed and curled into a little ball.

“But I’m so tired. I’m so weak. I can’t, Mum...”

There was silence all around him. He breathed the sweet air and felt lightheaded and drifted off into sleep.

 

When he woke again, it was from the sensation of something pricking insistently into his thigh. When he blearily grabbed for it, he felt the tiepin.

Jim moaned deep and tiredly. He simply wanted to curl into the darkness and sleep, but Spock would be put out with him. And his mother and Sam and his father probably too.

He started digging and tugging and pulling and pushing again. He felt delirious.

 

When Jim broke out of the rubble and comparatively cool, neutral air once again filled his lungs, he had no way of knowing that he had been encased for two days.

He was simply lying on the ground, while he listened impassively to the voices around him.

“There he is!”

“Oh my God. Is he alive?”

“We should get him to the Boss right away...”

“Someone help me, he’s pretty heavy.”

“Get out of the way, I’ll handle it.”

He was wrenched up by a pair of huge, meaty hands. They did not feel benign, but he did not struggle. He was half carried half dragged out of the mine. When they stepped outside, the cool wind of the night blew about his nose. After two weeks of impenetrable darkness, he let out a whimper at the relatively bright night surrounding him.

He was shoved into a car. They drove off – he slept.

Jim dreamed of his mother and that she said all those things he had been fantasizing about and secretly yearning for. She seemed to be proud of her son. Of that stubborn, prideful bastard that had given his body for food.

 

He did not know how long he had slept. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind he knew that an indiscernible time ago he had been driving with Banta for about thirty minutes until they had arrived at the mines. But that seemed like a lifetime ago now. And what exactly were thirty minutes?

He was seized at the collar of his dirty shirt and dragged out of the car. He hang limply in the unrelenting grasp of Banta and just stared without inflection at the huge mansion in front of him. Many rooms were still alight – it looked as beautiful as a Christmas tree.

He had to close his eyes against the sudden brightness – they were starting to sting uncomfortably. There was a gaggle of people milling outside, openly gazing towards them. They were probably curious.

One of the indistinct blotches slowly separated from them and staggered in his direction.

A deep voice he only knew too well drifted along the cool wind of the night.

“Jim...?” It sounded tremulous. He had thought he would never hear that voice again. And suddenly that... that presence in the back of his head that had slowly died out during the past two weeks, flared back to life and the indistinct blob rushed towards him and even before he could really make out what was happening, two strong arms were gripping his limp form and wrenching him out of Banta’s grasp.

“They said you were dead! They said you were dead... Oh God, they told me... they told me... The mines had collapsed and... They told me you were dead.”

Was that babbling creature really Spock? He never had heard Spock talk like that. He seemed genuinely upset.

His face was cradled into two palms and he was forced to stare directly into an austere, Vulcan face – that was not austere at all. There were glistening tear tracks on Spock’s face.

Jim’s mouth fell open. He had never seen Spock cry. He hadn’t known that the Vulcan even could cry.

Spock started raining kisses over his face and that was something that was just so out of the ordinary that it threw Jim for a loop and broke down every last resistance he had.

He wanted to turn his face away from the beauty of his friend; could not bear the thought that Spock would sully himself with the filth and grime that had accumulated on Jim’s person for the past two weeks. Spock, however, refused to let go of him. He pressed his forehead against Jim’s, deeply inhaling, clearly seeking to get his lungs full of the scent of his companion.

Jim clutched at his own, personal haven and wasn’t even quite aware of the low, pained moan that was constantly streaming out of his throat. Spock seemed not to even blink. His dark eyes roamed every centimetre of Jim’s face and his hands were shivering on his cheeks, while the Vulcan crooned, “Everything is all right. You’re with me now. God, Jim – You’re back. Oh God...”

‘I’m back. I’m home,’ Jim thought and pressed his face into the hot surface of Spock’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: How was Spock fairing during the two weeks?


	15. Chapter 11: My son, what makes you hide your face in fear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Use of mind altering drugs, Angst, slight non-con.

This is what happened to S’chn T’gai Spock during two weeks alone in Antonio Vargaz’ mansion...

 

“You do not look as if you have rested well.”

“I have not slept, no.”

Two dark eyebrows slowly crept a forehead up and dark, muddy brown eyes were fixed upon a Vulcan. One could clearly see the reticence in those fascinatingly emotive eyes and the bulging of neck muscles, but the alien answered nonetheless, “I have not slept, Master.”

“Because of your friend?”

Spock did not answer. He stood in the middle of Antonio Vargaz’ office. Banta had brought him here just a minute ago – a gross deviation from his usual path into the fields and one that made him admittedly – even if he admitted it only to himself – queasy.

Vargaz’ clicked with his tongue and uncrossed his arms. He had been standing in front of his desk, leaning against it and surveying Spock. Now he was walking towards the Vulcan and stopping mere centimetres in front of him. A hand grabbed his biceps and Spock tensed without being able to suppress his reaction. He felt something... strange. It was like tendrils that were curiously wandering through his body and into his minds, brushing with the barest of contacts against all his synapses.

Soft, brown eyes widened and he took a hasty step backwards, wrenching his upper arm out of the grip of Vargaz, who looked at him with contemplation.

“You are worried about him? Hmm...” murmured the man and turned around, wandering back towards his desk. Spock stared after him. What had that been? He had never felt a psychic touch before, but he was pretty sure that these... tendrils just now had been one. The fluttering heart in his side clenched and he rubbed his tingling palms inconspicuously against his trousers. He had read enough literature concerning Vulcans to know that it was wrong to establish a psychic contact with a being without its consent. But... Vargaz was a human, was he not? He had no alien features, no alien name...

“Come here.” The voice startled Spock out of his thoughts. His dark eyes were resting with a troubled expression upon the calm face of Vargaz, who was pointing at the spot right next to the chair he was now sitting in. The Vulcan hesitated for but a moment, before he complied.

“What am I to do here, Master?” he asked cautiously. He needed to get some information – and fast. Jim could be anywhere by now. He had tried desperately the night before to access the nascent bond binding the two together, but it had been ducking between all those confused, lonely other bonds and refused to be coaxed out of its hiding place.

“I thought you would appreciate a little... company while your friend is away the next two weeks.”

The little hair on the back of Spock’s neck started to rise. So... Jim was to be away for two weeks. But why would Vargaz keep him ... company, if it would be way more productive to send him into the fields again?

“Where is he?” Spock asked. Vargaz played with a pen on his desk, the ankle of his right foot balanced on the knee of his left leg and looked up at Spock in clear contemplation. His head jerked slightly downwards.

“Kneel,” he instructed. Spock’s slanted eyebrows twitched slightly, but he obeyed nonetheless; smoothly lowering himself onto the carpet, his hands resting with their vulnerable palms pointing upwards and his head lowering towards the carpet. His sensitive ears picked up on the increased respiration from the man sitting at the desk. Vargaz hummed approvingly, lowering his leg and scooting with his chair further towards the desk. He took something out of the drawer of his desk and placed the document in front of him.

He did not look at Spock, when he answered, “He is in the mines and working there. He’ll have plenty of time to think of all his transgressions.”

Silence was falling over the room and Spock listened to the rustling of cloth and paper and the scribbling of a pen, as well as the occasional huffs and silent humming noises humans made so often without realising it. After about ten minutes he concluded with a certain sense of incredulity that Vargaz seemed to fully intent on working, while letting the Vulcan kneel beside him. What was going on here?

 

Spock was staring at the carpet between his knees for exactly 2.7 hours now and he was sure that he would be able to draw the swirling lines of the pattern with closed eyes, if he had to do so. Vargaz hadn’t initiated any conversation with him – he only sat at his desk, working his way through document after document, occasionally turning towards his computer screen and working on there. Spock had been surreptitiously peeking out between his bangs towards the man. It was somewhat disturbing to see him at such... mundane tasks.

He and Jim hadn’t had much opportunity to get to know Vargaz, but from the few occasions he had been in direct contact with him, he had gotten the impression of a cold-hearted, bloodthirsty being. This right now... didn’t want to fit into the picture.

At 1220 Vargaz stretched in his chair and Spock very nearly jumped, when his heavy hand suddenly was placed upon his bowed head and finger started threading through the silky strands.

“How about some lunch? Are you hungry?” the man asked. Spock’s throat worked a few times without him being able to say anything.

The hand on his head patted him like a dog.

“Of course you are hungry. You haven’t had anything since... hmmm... I suppose you didn’t get to eat anything after your stunt yesterday... come,” Vargaz intoned, getting up from his chair. Spock was too dumbfounded to protest. He simply got to his feet – trying not to show too much that they were half asleep and prickling uncomfortable after kneeling for so long – and followed Vargaz with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

 

“Kneel.”

Vargaz pointed to the spot immediately at his right. They were in a huge dining room. It was exquisitely decorated – not overly stuffed with prized possessions like K’troll’s had been. It looked modern and sleek; maybe even a little too cold.

The Vulcan pressed his lips into a narrow line when he let himself down on his knees next to the sitting human. The hands on his thighs were slowly curling into loose fists.

“What is it?” Vargaz asked while pouring himself some coffee.

“You are treating me like a dog,” Spock said and felt a modicum of pride at how calm and collected his voice sounded. He peeked up at Vargaz. The man was not looking at him due to his occupation with his meal, but there was a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

It was not hard to miss that he pointedly did not answer to this observation.

Spock clenched his jaw. He thought of Jim. His companion would have been totally livid by now – should he exert more defiance as well? Was it right to just comply to everything the man wanted?

“Here. Open up.”

The Vulcan snapped out of his thoughts when something moist was pressed against his lips and the sweet smell of the fruit reached his nostrils. His head jerked backwards and he stared incredulously from the slice of a strange, orange fruit towards Vargaz and back. The man slowly raised his eyebrows.

“It’s perfectly edible. Didn’t you ever eat an orange? Its an earth fruit,” Vargaz said, still holding the juicy slice. Spock slowly shook his head from side to side.

“What are you doing? What is this all supposed to be?” he said slowly. Vargaz clicked with his tongue.

“You are disrespectful, my pet – again,” he murmured. Spock threw his shoulders back, straightening his spine.

“Is that it? Am I to be your pet?” he hissed in indignation, slanted eyebrows drawing together. Vargaz’ eyes narrowed and Spock could see the jaw of the man working.

“You are awfully stubborn today... Only because your little friend is away?” he drawled. Spock relinquished the kneeling stance in favour of clasping his hands together. He did not want to show them trembling. Defiance did not come easily to him – not anymore. Not after years of abuse by K’troll. But he was willing to fight. He did not want to have to tell Jim after two weeks that he had placidly gone along with being treated as a priced pet – yet again – and done nothing about it. His friend should have a reason to be proud of him.

The hand that was not holding the fruit suddenly shot forward, gripping the juncture of Spock’s neck and shoulder.

The eyes of the Vulcan widened when he felt yet again the tendrils of another mind slowly uncurling and gliding with ease through his mental shields – they were, after all, nearly untrained; the Vulcans had been regretfully reluctant to divulge any of their secrets in the literature he had found in K’troll’s library.

He was frozen for but a few moments, everything in him bristling against the unwanted, intimate contact. Before he could wrench himself away from the hand, however, it was gone already and Vargaz’ dark pink lips slowly stretched into a smile.

“Oh... so that is it,” he murmured. His dark eyes were fixed upon Spock like a researcher would gaze at an extraordinarily interesting test-subject.

“You want him to be proud of you, hm?” Vargaz crooned and Spock could feel the blood draining from his face. How could he... How could Vargaz know exactly what had gone through Spock’s mind just moments prior?

“You have forgotten something in your equation, though, my precious Vulcan. The fate of your Jim ultimately lies with me. You would serve him best if you just... indulge me, as they say. And I really didn’t demand anything dangerous from you, did I?”

Spock had to consciously concentrate on his respiration to keep it calm and slow, but his hands curled into fists.

“Look at me,” Vargaz demanded. Spock pressed his lips into a thin line and kept his head stubbornly down. A hard hand shot out and gripped his chin.

“I said look at me,” Vargaz hissed angrily, wrenching Spock’s head up. The rather benevolent master from a few moments prior was gone and replaced with a stony mask of anger. Again, there was the poisonous intrusion and this time Spock concentrated with all his mind to keep the grasping tendrils from his most intimate, inner core. Vargaz’ mouth was twitching as if the attempt of the Vulcan was amusing him.

A few seconds later Vargaz let his thumb slowly trail over Spock’s chin.

“I see... you are afraid because of what I’ve said down in the dungeons...” he muttered, “I might have been a bit... rushed.”

Spock, dismayed that someone could so easily break through all his defences and pry his most intimate thoughts out of him without so much as a by your leave, wrenched his head away from the grip and said with slightly trembling voice, “You are no human.”

Vargaz sat back in his chair, looking at Spock in quiet contemplation. The room was perfectly quiet for a few seemingly endless seconds, until he finally said, “Not entirely. No. I’m a mutt, just like you.”

Spock’s eyes widened minutely.

“Excuse me?” he whispered at last, his blood seemingly running way too cold through his veins. He thought of the last time a master had found out about his hybrid status. He thought of K’troll’s unrelenting wrath against the young boy who hadn’t even known of his mixed blood. When he felt for it, he could still trace his first scar ever that the livid man had left on his back that night.

Vargaz’ dark eyes were only too knowing, as he watched all the little changes in the austere Vulcan face.

“You don’t have to be afraid. It has taken me a little time, but after I found out what you were... You are simply fascinating for me,” he said silently, his eyes wandering over the sitting creature.

“What do you mean?” Spock asked. He felt ill to his stomach. “What are you?”

“That doesn’t need to concern you,” Vargaz answered, his voice a little colder now. He turned back towards his plate, while he said, “What matters is, that you are fascinating for me... you are a being of utter contrasts. You are a hybrid – just as me – and I can see that you have gone through similar situations as I have. We two – we aren’t that dissimilar. Quite the contrary... I feel drawn to you. Don’t you feel the same?”

He turned his head towards Spock. The Vulcan was just sitting there, staring at him with those big, dark eyes, his hands lying limp between his legs. One side of Vargaz’ mouth twitched upwards and he took the slice of orange between his fingers again, holding it in front of the delicately curved lips.

“Eat,” he instructed.

Spock mutely opened his mouth and allowed his master to place the juicy flesh of the fruit on his green tinged tongue.

He let himself be fed – his brain was too preoccupied with what Vargaz had said.

 

Spock had knelt down next to Vargaz without having to be prompted, when they returned to the office of the man. His formidable brain was still gnawing at the last things that Vargaz had said.

‘You are a being of utter contrasts. You are a hybrid – just as me – and I can see that you have gone through similar situations as I have. We two – we aren’t that dissimilar. Quite the contrary... I feel drawn to you. Don’t you feel the same?’

What did Vargaz mean – they weren’t dissimilar? Everything in Spock was reluctant to even consider this probability. He had nothing in common with a man that was willingly and –from the looks of it – gladly enslaving other sentient beings. One that seemed to condone the atrocities Banta had inflicted upon Jim. One that even punished Jim for defending himself by sending him away to work in a mine.

Spock had nothing in common with him; other than their mixed blood.

He could never be like Vargaz. Never. He despised violence too much.

‘But what, if everything had gone a different path? If I hadn’t had the shuttle crash with my family... if I had grown in a natural environment. Would I have become the same man I am today? Or would it even need these drastic changes? What, if I am suddenly free and find within myself the urge to press myself onto other beings? Would that be my fate? I am stronger than most creatures in the known universe. I am definitely stronger than Jim. Would I be willing to enslave my best friend? If I had the capacity to do so? Just to have him near me without having to fret over him running away?’ Spock thought, his eyes becoming utterly dry while he stared sightlessly at the carpet between his spread knees.

He did not realize the secret smile on Vargaz’ face. The human looked down upon his pet every now and again. The thoughts wandering through Spock’s mind were only too apparent on his face. Vargaz had only insufficient data regarding Vulcans but it was painfully obvious that this half-Vulcan had spent his life separated from his culture. Even if his face – a compelling mixture of utter neutrality and yet raging emotions – hadn’t given it away; his flimsy mental shields sealed the deal. He might have succeeded in teaching himself the superficial aloofness of the highly intelligent beings – but without being in their midst it was practically impossible to fully adapt their ways. And maybe he was too old by now to take them on, even if he would find himself suddenly with them again.

‘You are neither fish nor flesh. Humans would be at loose ends with you and Vulcans would be probably outraged at your mere existence. Do you even know that you only have that damned human I’ve sent away? Probably not. But I’ll make sure you realize it. I’ll make sure you’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand.’

Both their thoughts, though, came to a crushing halt, when suddenly the communication’s system on his desk piped up. He raised his eyebrows slightly, while Spock peeked up beneath his bangs.

Vargaz hit a button.

“Who is it?” he asked calmly. A female computer voice answered, “Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.”

Spock could not contain his heavy flinch and the way his head jerked upwards. Vulcan. Vulcan... Vulcan?!

Vargaz’ eyes flicked towards him for but a second. He was just as surprised as the alien at his side. He cleared his throat. He had never heard of an Ambassador Sarek. Curious. He hit another button and spoke, “You are speaking with Antonio Vargaz, Ambassador. How can I help you?”

Spock had to contain the urge to stand up on his knees and peek over the desk – as if he would be able to see the Ambassador through the communication’s device. Highly illogical. And yet...

“Mister Vargaz. I hope I am not intruding upon your time.”

A shiver ran from the base of Spock’s neck down over his scarred back, ending at the base of his spine. His mouth got as dry as desert sand. That voice – dark and cultivated and utterly devoid of any emotions whatsoever. It was a Vulcan voice. And it sounded... it sounded... it sounded so familiar!

Something deep inside him seemed to uncoil ever so slightly. He could not grasp it or pinpoint it, but the feeling of utter vertigo accompanying it caused him to slump slightly forward; he had to brace himself on his hands between his knees and nearly missed Vargaz’ jovial reply, “Not at all, Ambassador. Not at all! This is a delightful surprise. What could an Ambassador of Vulcan only want from little old me?”

The Ambassador didn’t miss a beat and replied instantly, “The Federation has contacted me 2.4 hours prior to my call here with a request to determine, if the planet Reigar II could be considered for a potential new Vulcan colony. After conducting some research, I have been directed towards you as the one capacity on the planet that could answer me any questions.”

Vargaz’ face seemed to lit up like a Christmas tree. He rubbed his hands together.

“You’ve been told correctly, Ambassador. I’d be delighted to answer every questions you might have.”

“Excellent. When would my arrival be most convenient for you?”

“I will fit my schedule to your liking. It’s the least I could do for a busy Ambassador.”

“Thank you. Then I will arrive at 1800 at your home, Mr. Vargaz. I appreciate you understanding of the short notice on this matter.”

“Not at all, Ambassador. I’m looking forward to your arrival. If need be I could send one of my servants to pick you up from the Starbase.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Spock listened as the two cut the call. He felt numb all over and at the same time his whole body seemed to prickle in anticipation. A Vulcan. He had heard the voice of a Vulcan – and an Ambassador at that. The Ambassador of his people...

His eyes were glazed, when Vargaz grabbed his chin and turned his head every which way, scrutinizing him intensely. He only got out of his stupor, when the man tugged his collar slightly down and simultaneously shoved his finger under the unrelenting steel.

Spock could not contain the pained hiss escaping him, as the raw, inflamed flesh of his neck was touched.

“Hmm... I’ll have to call the Doctor. Can’t show you to him with all these injuries,” the man murmured, letting go of Spock, whose eyes went wide.

“M-master?” he croaked. Vargaz grinned slowly.

“If I can manage to get into the good graces of a Vulcan and an Ambassador at that, it’d give me an unbelievable leverage over Tikata. And you’d be quite the bonus to achieve that, don’t you think? Of course...” he drawled, giving Spock another once over, “... there’ll be rules. I’ll think about them while McCoy treats the injuries on your person.”

He turned away. Spock only heard dimly the conversation between Vargaz and McCoy. The information that he was about to come into contact with a Vulcan had all but short circuited his brain.

 

He was alone with McCoy in the his room. The heaven outside was turning interesting shades of red and orange. The Doctor had loosened his shackles and was currently examining the raw skin of his neck.

“So... you’re going to meet the Vulcan Ambassador?” McCoy drawled. Spock wondered if the Doctor could feel the excited fluttering of his heard due to him gingerly prodding at his neck. Otherwise he could not explain the almost mischievous glint in the brown eyes of the man.

“Yes,” he said and, after a few seconds he continued with a low, hushed voice, “I’ve never met another Vulcan before. I... anticipate to meet him.”

He clasped his hands together in his lap, trying to conceal the trembling of his hands. A light green blush slowly crept up his neck and settled in his cheeks. He was not used to talking about emotions – and certainly not in front of strangers. But the excited bubble that had been growing in his belly since he had heard the dark, cultivated, Vulcan voice, was getting too big to contain. He never had felt so... giddy was probably the most appropriate word.

McCoy grinned lopsidedly.

“Yeah... I can imagine that,” he murmured, while he took the dermal regenerator to hand.

“What about Jim? Where is he anyway?” the man asked, while he got to work on the neck.

And as easily as that – the bubble in Spock’s belly, that had been tickling him and caused him to almost stretch his lips into an unfamiliar, never-tried grin... burst. It burst and left him empty and feeling devastated.

Jim. Jim. He had not been thinking about him at all in the last couple of hours. He had been too preoccupied with the probability of meeting a Vulcan. He had been... he had been happy while his best friend... his companion... his... his Jim, was somewhere far away from him and had to work in some mine.

He did not hear McCoy’s concerned voice asking him what was wrong or felt the rough shaking of the Doctor’s hands on his shoulders. He simply sat there, face suffusing a sickly green colour and thought with a surprising amount of spite, ‘Maybe you really aren’t that different, after all. You seem to forget your best friend quite quickly. You are a disgusting person, Spock.’

He didn’t say another word to McCoy. He did not even look at the Doctor.

Spock felt too ashamed.

 

“So this is how it goes. You will not speak, unless spoken to. You will restrain yourself to short answers. You will not – with any word – elude to your social standing. You will not mention the human. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You realize that this is merely a present from me to you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Has anyone ever given you a present, Spock?”

“... No, Master.” ‘Jim has given me his friendship...’

“So... you see how good I am to you. How will you thank me for it?”

“I... will obey you, Master.”

“Hmph. That’s right. And don’t forget... I have the strings to Jim’s well-being in my hands.”

“I will never forget, Master.” ‘Never again. Jim, I have failed you utterly.’

 

“I thought I would introduce you to one of my servants, Ambassador. I thought he would interest you.”

“A Vulcan.”

“Indeed. I believe he’ll be able to prove my answers correct or false – he’s living on Reigar for two years now, so he can probably tell you best, if the planet is suited for a Vulcan settlement.”

“That is quite logical, Mr. Vargaz. This will make matters more straightforward.”

Spock stood at the side. He wore clothes that were so exquisite he did not even dare to breathe – he did not want to crease them. Dark cloth trousers and a light blue shirt, whose collar was stiff enough to conceal the discolouration around his neck partly. The sleeves were long and the cuffs secure around the thin wrists. He was immaculately groomed.

However, all of these things were the least of his concerns. What was really on his mind was the new occupant of the office. The alien that was standing regal and upright in the centre of the room, looking for all the world as if he owned the place.

Spock’s dark eyes drank in the sight of delicately curved ears that were so similar to his own and of slanted, dark eyebrows that were peppered with silver. Even the severe looking haircut was just as Spock’s. And the clothes... exotic, dark garments that looked practical and elegant at the same time. His eyes flicked up again and settled on a grave looking face, whose lips seemed to be pressed into a permanent line of disapproval.

He had to make a conscious effort of keeping his breathing slow and rhythmical, while his whole being seemed to light on fire. This man. This Vulcan... Ambassador Sarek. There was something. He could... there was this slow uncoiling inside him, while he watched the older Vulcan turn towards Vargaz again, when the man spoke to him.

The tips of his fingers tingled and he wanted to... he wanted... what did he want?

He watched, dumb and mute, as Vargaz motioned towards the door of his office. Garbled sounds of ‘Walk you through my mansion... can talk about which subjects we’ll have to discuss... servant will guide you around the estate the next time...’, reached his ears.

And suddenly that magnificent Vulcan and Vargaz were gone and it left Spock trembling and gasping for air. He sank slowly to his knees, not caring anymore about getting any creases into the pricey trousers.

‘Jim... Jim... I’ll have to tell you so much, when you get back.’

 

Vargaz had been pleased with him. He had been stroking Spock’s hair while the Vulcan had knelt beside him – shackles once again firmly in place. The Ambassador would be back in three days. Until then they would be able to learn more from each other.

Spock said nothing to any of it. His thoughts were far, far away.

 

They got into some kind of routine. Spock followed Vargaz everywhere like a well trained dog. The man was handling him with surprising care.

It frightened him to some degree. That made him think; what was a life, if one feared not only hate and pain, but also love and tenderness?

 

The night before that Vulcan was to come back, Spock was not led back towards his and Jim’s room. He followed his master into another room and it was not hard to discern which room it was. Troubled, dark eyes laid themselves on the human and his posture became tense.

Vargaz smiled at him – it was almost indulgent.

“Wait... I’ll get you something that’ll help you relax.”

Spock watched as the man pulled out some kind of cigarette from a drawer. He put it between his lips and lit it with practised ease. He took a drag, before placing it in front of Spock’s lips. The Vulcan turned his head away, his forehead creasing sorrowful.

“I have never...”

“Hush. It’s good for you – good for us. Trust me.”

“What... do you mean by that?”

He could smell the sweet, heavy odour of the strange substance. It clouded his mind a little. Vargaz watched him with intent eyes.

“We are both highly intelligent. We are both telepathically gifted. Or cursed. Our minds never find peace – our telepathy is perpetually reaching out towards other beings. It is grating for an organism. This here,” he held up the cigarette, “helps to let you come down.”

Spock didn’t like the feeling of the cloudy haze that was slowly suffusing his brain and he took a step backwards.

“I... don’t want to.”

Vargaz’ lips spread into a broad smile. He seemed unconcerned.

“Don’t be daft. Have I done anything bad to you in the last four days? Hey – I even made you a present. I cared for you very much, did I not?”

“...You... did, Master.”

“There you go. And you’ll get to meet the Ambassador again tomorrow, don’t you?”

“...”

A dangerous glint was entering Vargaz’ dark eyes.

“I spoke with Jim’s foreman the other night – after you were sent to your room. I thought you’d like to know that he is all right...”

The words lingered in the room like the heavy, sweet smoke of the strange cigarette.

Vargaz’ grin got even broader when Spock stepped towards him and took a clumsy, reluctant drag from the joint.

 

Spock felt disoriented and numb. His thoughts were only lazily drifting – not at all flitting in precise patterns like they usually did. He also felt no anger and disturbing violent tendencies all around him. He was totally alone in his head. Totally alone. There wasn’t even the presence of Jim’s bond anymore.

When Vargaz gently dragged him into his bed and curled his arms around the Vulcan, Spock did not resist. He closed his eyes and felt tears prickling in their corners – mourning the loss of his friend.

 

“May I enquire as to what you are called?”

“Spock, Sir.”

“How old are you, Spock?”

A quick glance to Vargaz, who was strolling beside him and after a nearly imperceptible nod, “Twenty-three, Sir.”

“Than you must have had an education in the Vulcan Science Academy. In which branch have you – “

“Ah, there is Banta. He must’ve just finished his rounds. I am sure he will gladly answer any questions you might have concerning the jobs that would need fulfilment the most...”

Spock knew that Vargaz’ interruption had not come out of the blue. He lowered his head, when the man shot him a warning look. The Ambassador looked stone faced but did not reprimand the man.

 

“You seem... interested in Spock, Ambassador Sarek.”

Vargaz had watched the interaction between the two Vulcans intently. The dark, observant eyes of the Ambassador had practically never left the young half-Vulcan. It also hadn’t gone unnoticed that the alien had slipped every now and again personal questions into his enquiries towards Spock, after Vargaz had cut off the first blatant interrogation.

The Ambassador was sitting on the other side of the desk. An untouched cup of coffee stood before him. He had clasped his hands together on his lap in a way that reminded Vargaz of Spock, who was currently standing next to Banta in the back of the room. Maybe that was a Vulcan trait... huh.

“Indeed. I have to admit, that I had not anticipated meeting a fellow Vulcan here on Reigar II.”

Vargaz smiled at him.

“You are certainly invited to spent more... time with him, when you come back from your trip to earth. When was that again?”

“In 2.8 weeks. Thank you for your offer – I will utilize it.”

Vargaz’ smile seemed shark-like.

“Please do, Ambassador.”

 

Vargaz took Spock every night into his rooms – and every night he forced passive-aggressively the Ruby onto the Vulcan. Spock felt helpless in this unusual state of mind. He didn’t like the feeling of not being able to control the workings of his brain – at all.

He dreamed often, which was also quite unusual and probably due to the influence of the foreign substance.

He dreamed of the elder Vulcan he had met. He dreamed of Jim he missed from the bottom of his heart.

He felt terribly inadequate and as if he had wronged both of them.

 

Vargaz watched his charge during the course of the nine days he had been in intensive interaction with him now. The Vulcan became even more quiet than he had originally been. He just followed orders, let himself be petted like an animal, let himself even be fed.

When Vargaz touched him and crawled into the unresisting mind of the creature, he was assaulted by a storm of feelings that was quite extraordinary concerning the fact that Spock was so placid on the outside. They were strong emotions – on the forefront of all of them a deep, aching yearning... for the human.

He still had not managed to drive that Jim out of Spock. It was... grating.

“We are going to have guests in three days. You’ll be attending the party.”

“What shall I have to do?” Spock asked, staring at the floor.

“Nothing. Just be yourself.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Vargaz marvelled at Spock. He had not been lying that first day. Spock was a being full of contradictions – they were addicting to him and his mind.

This creature was strong and yet he was bowing his head and will before others. He did this only to protect another being – and he did it although everyone in his life had only used him up until this point.

He had been abused and savagely beaten – Vargaz had seen the deep marring of the lean back – and yet he absolutely abhorred violence.

Fascinating.

 

Spock said few things during his days with Vargaz. There was not much he could say.

He wondered if Vargaz even knew that Spock was playing him to some degree. The man felt himself safe – the Vulcan could tell it. Spock was placid and submissive until Vargaz finally did it: he sent Spock onto an errand through the house. The Vulcan was careful to complete it fast and dutifully and was rewarded – with another errand. And another one. And another one.

After seven days with Vargaz he had started to allow himself exploring the house during those errands.

On the tenth day he had mapped out the building – and he had found the library.

However – he had also lost something that overshadowed his findings.

 

Spock still heard Vargaz’ voice echoing through his head.

“There was a cave-in in the mines. They are looking for him but... I wouldn’t get my hopes up, if I were you. Birch said the kid seemed fairly crazy anyway, so... it’s probably for the best.”

The Ruby did not help. He just rolled it over and over in his head. The words stretched like gum and seemed to take hours upon hours until they reached the end of the sentence, only to start anew. He was curled in on himself and lying on the bed of Vargaz, who had draped an arm around his body. He shivered all over, while he tried to fight against the clouds in his head and reach the bond of Jim.

He felt numb inside. Lifeless.

 

“You look terrible. Haven’t you slept again? Tonight is the party, you know.”

“...”

“Talk to me!”

“...”

“Look at me!”

Dark eyes slowly raised towards him. They were bleak and Vargaz shuddered. He did not touch Spock. He did not want to know the feelings and thoughts running through the Vulcan’s mind. His lips twisted in disgust.

“Get up and sit over there,” he growled, gesturing towards a corner of the room. The Vulcan went without back-talk.

It was eerie to watch; like there was only an empty husk. Like an integral part of the half-Vulcan had died.

 

“He’s a beauty, Vargaz. Pity that he behaves like a corpse.”

Vargaz grunted vaguely and watched Spock. The Vulcan was slowly walking through the dining room. His contours shivered ever so slightly within the thick, white smog of the Ruby that was smoked in various corners.

He stopped every now and again when someone spoke to him and even let himself get touched on arms or shoulders, before he slowly retreated again. Vargaz took a swig from his ale. His head snapped up, when the doors to the dining hall suddenly burst open and one of the maids scurried towards him.

His eyebrows drew thunderously together, but her next words let him forget his ire.

“Mr. Banta has just called. He has found him alive and is bringing him to us as we speak.”

Vargaz put his glass down and exited the room. His guests, intrigued by his sudden departure, followed.

 

Could words describe Spock’s feeling, when he was going with the flow of onlookers, standing outside the huge mansion and watching as a hovercar pulled near? Probably.

But the emotions that flooded him when the Triptochid came out of the car and drew Jim out of it – they were indescribable. He had to stare a few moments; make sure that he wasn’t just dreaming. That the pitiful creature hanging on its scruff from Banta’s meaty fist was, indeed, Jim. His Jim.

He staggered out of the clump of men – shoved some of them even aside.

Jim was looking terrible. His golden hair was oily and dirty, hanging limp about his temples. He was covered in mud and dust and various substances – Spock could smell him even from two metres distance. And yet nothing could have held him up from wrenching Jim out of Banta’s grasp and cradle his unresisting body to him.

He was not even aware of the fact that he was babbling. His synapses were overflowing, his body just about to shut down. Spock peppered Jim’s face with kisses – he tasted grime and filth. Nothing had ever tasted more divine.

Jim whimpered in his grasp. He tried to move away, but Spock clutched at him, unable to let him go.

“Everything is all right. You’re with me now. God, Jim – You’re back. Oh God...”, he crooned and wrapped his arms around Jim’s shoulders, while rocking him back and forth.

He buried his nose in the filthy hair and sobbed, “I have failed you utterly. I have failed you. Please forgive me.”

He was not sure if his friend had heard him, but Jim’s dirty, wounded hands were tightly fisting the shirt on Spock’s back. He did not seem inclined to let go of him.

Together once again. There was much that needed to be discussed. So much.

But for now – they were as close as they could get. Two halves becoming a whole once again, fitting themselves neatly together despite jagged edges and bumps their surroundings had tried to force upon them.

They only matched all the more better – the edges and bumps fitting themselves neatly and giving them hold. They would not slide out of one another that easily anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim hallucinates his mother, while Spock gets to deal with his father...
> 
> Don't be surprised over the parts with Sarek. This was, after all, a chapter that dealt only with Spock's two weeks. So we could only know and witness what was happening to him.
> 
> We will learn more about what Sarek and McCoy thought about all of that.  
> \------  
> Also: thank you all again so very much for the reviews. Reading through some parts again I realize how many grammatical mistakes I've made, I hope it is not too jarring. I'll go back to it one day and sift through it


	16. Chapter 12: Someone saved my life tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild Warning: Angst
> 
> Huge Promise: Hurt/Comfort, Romance and - surprisingly enough - sexy time *purr*

“Stay with me,” Jim had said, when Spock had sat him carefully down on the closed lid of the toilet. The Vulcan had nodded mutely – unwilling to part from the human so soon after he had him back once more. The unspoken desperation shining from the hazel eyes was enough to give him a clue as to what was probably going through the human’s head right now.

Jim started unselfconsciously removing his dirty garments, his shivering fingers slipping on the buttons of the shirt, that were still attached.

“Wait,” Spock murmured, before he went down on his knees in front of his friend. Jim was only too willing to let his hands fall away and just stare at the neat cap of black hair. He was perfectly docile while Spock worked his clothes open and helped slipping out of the torn garments. Only when Spock had rid him of the last sock and was starting to work on the fastenings of his trousers, did the human react – by gasping and shoving his hand into his pocket. Spock raised his eyebrows, staring first at the closed fist Jim presented him and then up into the expectant face of his companion.

A tremulous smile started tugging at the corners of the oh-so-expressive mouth.

“I have kept it the whole time. Did not loose it, Spock,” he whispered, while leaning down – seemingly without his own volition; the Vulcan would have not been surprised to know that Jim’s strength had simply given away.

“Look,” he muttered and raised his dirty fist again, slowly opening his fingers. In the palm of his hand lay a smudged length of metal. Spock stared at it wordlessly.

It was the tiepin. Jim had protected the tiepin from getting lost the whole two weeks – even though he had been buried alive in the shaft of a mine.

The knowledge of Spock’s own treachery suddenly hit home. He had been thinking of Jim – yes, of course – but he had also been... happy. For a few hours. He had been thinking about that Vulcan Ambassador nearly as much as he had thought about his friend.

And Jim? He had clung on to that dirty piece of lifeless metal and the single-minded thought of getting himself and Spock into the library, so they could continue working on their dream...

Cold washed through the Vulcan and hot shame forced tears in his eyes.

“Oh God, Jim. I’m so sorry,” he croaked suddenly, throwing his arms around the shoulders of the surprised human and hugging him towards him. Jim gave a muffled sound at his shoulder, but the Vulcan could not determine its meaning. He tugged his companion down from the toilet and into his lap, clinging to him and pressing his face into the warm nook where neck met shoulder. It was not important in that moment that Jim reeked and was dirty.

 

The human let himself be manhandled without complain – a testament to how weak he was at the moment. He sat in the warm lap of the alien, cradled against a hot chest and closed his eyes. He did not want to admit how utterly right it felt in that moment to let himself be held by Spock. Jim tried lazily to remember the last time he had been in such a comforting embrace. It must’ve been a long time in the past by now.

“Spock... what are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?” he murmured after a while when he thought it was time to slowly drift out of the place of contentment he had slipped into. It seemed surreal – suddenly sitting in a blinding white bathroom. He had to squint his eyes against it, else it simply hurt to much on his retinas; it felt as if his pupils simply could not contract enough.

He felt nimble hands on the fastenings of his trousers and did not push them away. He trusted Spock – utterly. He had never realized before his trip to the mines, just how much this dumb, sorry excuse of a Vulcan had crawled into his very being.

This fascinating, highly intelligent, gentle, fierce creature.

Spock peeled him out of his clothes and helped him into the bathtub where the showerhead and a washcloth from the cupboard under the sink were utilized to start scrubbing him off. While Spock worked and Jim simply soaked in the warmth of the water and the gentle, careful touches of his friend, the Vulcan spoke.

Jim did not need to look into Spock’s soulful eyes to realize the deep shame and regret that was gnawing on the alien. He wondered idly, how he ever had earned the utter devotion of Spock. It could not have been by simply caring for him during these terrible days at K’troll’s mansion? Spock could not possibly still hold on to that allegiance he had sworn to Jim after those lose long days following his assault of one of the guests?

Jim had been with the human race long enough to know that this was nothing normal. That this was something extraordinary – something every leader would give his eye teeth for. He knew not everything Spock had gone through in his life, but he knew the raw facts well enough. He knew that the Vulcan did remember next to nothing of his life previous to his enslavement and he knew that Spock had been with K’troll since he had been eight years.

And now this guy... this formidable creature was standing at his side, washing grime and dirt and dust from his person, while looking pretty smudged himself because of his handling of Jim and told him with a shame tinged voice of his perceived transgression of having been... happy. Happy to see someone of his own race and to have been able to talk to him.

“Spock. Stop,” Jim said, when he simply could not stand it any longer. He still did not open his tender, hurting eyes – the light he could see through the vulnerable eyelids was enough for the moment.

Spock hesitated, but before he could come to any conclusion as to what Jim wanted to tell him, the human spoke again, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m happy for you that you’ve met a Vulcan. I’ve been worried sick that you’d be a wreck, when I come back. I feel so much more at ease now...”

 

The slanted eyebrows of the Vulcan lowered and he closed his eyes for but a moment, gathering his strength and breathing deeply. He did not tell Jim about the drugs or the nights in Vargaz’ bed as his pet. He thought it would be wiser to let Jim believe he had been... happy... the last two weeks.

As the shivering human came out of the tub, Spock wrapped him in the biggest towel he could find – which was not that big – and rubbed him dry.

“...And I have found the library, Jim,” he said suddenly into the silence apropos of nothing. Jim seized thin shoulders in a death grip, an almost maniacal grin on his face.

“Tomorrow night we’ll go there. Damn, Spock, you are the best!”

The Vulcan solemnly looked at his friend. He watched the fluttering of vulnerable eyelids, the long lashes that lay on the bruised skin beneath, the nervous twitching in the open, handsome face that was telling of all the insecurities and fears that had assaulted Jim in his prison underground.

Spock leaned forward and gingerly pressed a kiss upon the smooth forehead. There was astonishment in Jim’s face when he brought his hand up and rubbed with their calloused pads against the vacant patch of skin. Neither of them said anything. They remembered their last morning together – in bed, kissing and chastely touching and trying to admit to something and hide it at the same time.

Something fundamental had shifted in their relationship and Spock found that he didn’t care. He found that he started yearning for something he had never yearned for before.

With a calm determination he had not felt in a long time, he seized Jim’s hand and tugged him into their room. The human followed him – trusting his friend to guide him to the bed.

When Spock raised himself up again in order to walk to the light switch and turn it off, Jim piped up.

“D-Don’t! Could we... could you... leave it on?” he croaked. He sounded positively desperate for a few heartbeats. A hot flush of shame crept up the thick column of his neck. Spock contemplated him in silence, before he said, “It is hurting your eyes.”

“I need it nonetheless.”

Spock wondered idly how much it cost the human to admit to this weakness; and a weakness that befell only small children, at that. Three weeks prior Jim would have happily gauged his eyes out with a rusty spoon before admitting to this in front of Spock. And now he sat there in bed, naked under the covers that were lying loosely about his waste, his eyes still squinting into the too bright light. He was looking so small and nervous in that moment – quite unlike his usual room filling presence.

Thick muscles were twitching under cleanly scrubbed skin as if he was physically preparing for a reprimand from his friend.

As Spock slipped into bed next to him and drew his human into his arms, he marvelled again at that invisible shift in their relationship. He knew that he was holding Jim way too hard against his body and that he would leave additional bruises on the already abused skin – but Jim did not protest. He clung to him and pressed his face against Spock’s chest.

There was silence for so long that the Vulcan thought his companion had fallen asleep, until Jim whispered, “I thought I was going to die down there, Spock. I sincerely thought that I had been buried alive.”

Spock could feel the despair and fear radiating from every point of touch.

They did not really sleep that night – they were only clinging and desperately inhaling the scent of the other.

 

Sarek sat in the shuttle that would bring him to earth. His eyes were half closed and despite various missives that would need his attention, he simply sat motionless in his seat, his hands clasped together in his lap, while staring straight ahead. He went through every picture of Spock his eidetic memory had saved securely, yet again despite having thought everything over quite thoroughly these past days. It seemed that he just could not lay the information of Spock still being alive – truly alive – down and let it rest.

However, it did not surprise him. Family bonds were the strongest in the Vulcan society and the bond he had with Spock – quiescent these past years; not truly broken, but confused and strangely amputated – and flared to life with a vengeance upon being in such close proximity to his own flesh and blood.

He had gone to Antonio Vargaz’ mansion half believing he just wanted to make sure the young Vulcan Doctor McCoy had photographed really was Spock and had went away with a heart that had been heavy with a mixture of deep sorrow and sheer insurmountable joy. Only his fast grip on his emotional responses had kept the formidable Ambassador from sinking to his knees the moment he had laid eyes upon his son.

His son. Spock was alive. After fifteen years of not knowing the fate of his child...

The Ambassador slowly, imperceptibly turned his head towards the window at his side and stared out into the vast darkness of the universe.

He thought of the smooth face of the young Vulcan and those eyes he would never forget, because they were the eyes of his wife; they had been shuttered with something the Ambassador had only ever seen on a few of the old Admirals in Starfleet; the ones that had been present in many battles. His son’s eyes had been eyes that had seen and witnessed too much.

Eyes that had looked time and time again almost fearful to this other human – Antonio Vargaz – clearly seeking permission to divulge one information or another.

And this... human had had the gall to offer him his own son. Sarek’s fingers twitched in the sudden urge to curl themselves together into loose fists, but he refrained in indulging and leaned slightly more back against the backrest of his seat.

He and the Doctor had had long discussions in that little, quaint house of his. They had come up with some kind of solution that wasn’t one – not really, anyway. There were too many variables that were still unknown and could change everything around.

Alas, right now they had no other choice.

So he sat in this shuttle to earth, while his heart still was with that deeply wounded creature on Reigar II that had once, a long time ago, been his son. Sarek slowly closed his eyes. Vargaz might think he went to earth for business – which was not entirely untrue – but in reality he went to earth, because there was where Amanda had gone off to one day after his own departure to Reigar II. He needed to speak to his wife and engage her... capacity in this whole affair.

 

Spock knelt next to Vargaz on the floor. He was looking down upon the carpet, his hands were relaxed and lying with their vulnerable palms pointing upwards on his spread thighs. He did not flinch, when the hand of his master placed itself sometime during the morning on his shiny cap of black hair and started carding lazily through the silken strands.

Vargaz wanted a docile Vulcan pet? He would get one. Spock felt not much – only a sense of deep, centred contentment.

“You are so happy today. You enjoyed having your friend back?” Vargaz asked, his fingers slipping from the dark hair down the side of Spock’s face, until they could gently grip the aristocratic chin and tilt the Vulcan’s head upwards. Dark, solemn eyes regarded him – without ire or reluctance or fear. They simply stared.

“Yes, Master,” Spock agreed placidly. He did not draw away, when Vargaz slowly rubbed his thumb over green tinged, soft lips.

The man looked upon his pet with curiosity. He would not have anticipated, that he’d get this kind of response out of Spock only by allowing him to lick the wounds of his wounded companion – but the contentment he could feel in the other being was proof enough. Vargaz’ lips slowly stretched into a grin.

“You may spent the nights with him for a while, if you keep being so good,” he crooned, his fingers rubbing along Spock’s left jaw. The Vulcan tilted his head almost imperceptibly into the touch, his dark eyes never leaving Vargaz’ gaze.

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”

The man withdrew his hand almost reluctantly, watching Spock another scant seconds, before snorting in amusement and turning back towards his work.

Spock lowered his face towards the floor again and searched for his bond with Jim.

It was not hard to find – not anymore. There, in the back of his head, was the warm, heavy presence of his companion. The fragile, nascent sprout had grown with a vengeance. Spock had not paid attention to it due to other much more pressing problems, but last night, when he had laid eyes upon Jim’s battered – but still living – form, the bond in the back of his head had practically exploded. It had shoved the other, quivering remnants of long forgotten bonds away and planted itself with the same, righteous stubbornness in the fertile soil of Spock’s mind, like the living, breathing human, to whom it was attached to, would have done.

The presence was a delicious throbbing in the back of his head, luring him to try and rub it against a surface like a cat would have done. He refrained from indulging this urge. Instead the Vulcan plunged right back into the presence of his companion.

He had been made aware of the bond only that morning, when Jim and he had been woken from Banta out of a troubled, light doze. They had not anticipated having to work that day, but the face of the Triptochid had been carved in stone; clearly unwilling to fight with them.

Jim... his always stubborn, temperamental human... Jim had meekly gotten up from the bed, despite him still being naked, and had slipped into new clothes.

And that was, when Spock had finally felt it – the terror and fear throbbing through him. Feelings that were not foreign for the Vulcan and that he had thought were his own, but that he now realized were not coming from him. The vertigo that had taken hold of him in that moment, had caused him to plop back down upon the bed.

“Spock?” Jim’s alarmed voice had reached his ears, while streams of troubled concern had trickled through the link.

The Vulcan had closed his eyes, wondrously gazing upon the link in his mind – no longer a sickly sprout, but a mighty, golden tree, whose thick stem seemed to nearly throb with energy.

“It’s all right,” Spock choked out at last, when he got aware of Banta’s weary gaze. The bodyguard had brought them away and Spock had almost revelled in the feeling of deep dismay blowing through his mind, when Jim realized that his companion would not go with him, but would stay with Vargaz.

The feeling in and of itself was not pleasant and it troubled him to know that Jim was so unhappy with this arrangement – but the fact that he was able to feel what Jim was feeling, was... it was grand.

Especially since he would never have guessed it – Jim’s face was, despite the occasional twitches, perfectly collected. His golden eyes twitching every now and again towards Banta as if he was contemplating to voice his objection; but ultimately he remained silent. His fear towards the hulky man won out.

And so Spock was now kneeling next to Vargaz and gazing upon this new bond, while playing ‘pet’ for his master.

Spock utilized the time in which he was uselessly sitting on the floor and immersed himself into the wondrous, new caverns his mind had taken on.

He had to think.

 

The stem was warm under his hands. Spock drew in a deep breath, before closing his eyes and laying his cheek upon the surface of the tree. A bond. He had a bond – really and truly. It was amazing. This feeling of contentment and fullness. Never before had he felt so utterly satisfied with who and what he was. He had never felt so... rooted.

“And all of this because of you, Jim,” he whispered to the golden bark and pressed his forehead against it. A quiver was going through the barren branches. They did not have any leaves, yet, but Spock was positive that they would come, when they deepened the bond.

They quivered again, causing Spock to draw slightly back and regard them with a frown. His hands curled into fists and he watched on in dismay, as the thick bark burst open in some places and started bleeding a thick, viscous fluid, shimmering in silver, that was rolling lazily down the stem.

Jim was hurting – he was afraid. Did he show it, down in the stables? Probably not. He was stubborn and full of pride; although, after what had happened to him... he was still oh-so-vulnerable.

“Shhh... Don’t be afraid, Jim. Everything is going to be all right,” Spock crooned, while stepping up towards the tree once more and gently petting the thick trunk.

The branches twitched – in confusion perhaps? Could Jim actually... feel him? Even hear him?

“Jim... can you hear me?” he asked in wonder. He looked at the naked branches. They were starting to sway slightly. It made him dizzy looking at it.

Was Jim dizzy as well?

Spock let his hand stroke slowly over the bark. Here in his mind he had no qualms about being affectionate. It simply felt... right to comfort his friend here.

Maybe because he could not see the expressive, human face. Was that cowardice? What exactly did elicit this response? Was it Vulcan nature? Human nature? Or simply the stubborn pride of a man?

The branches started shivering again and Spock watched them with interest. He could not discern their language – not yet. But he was willing to learn it.

And he was willing to play that game with Vargaz as long as it would take to get Jim and himself out of here.

 

When Spock was brought into their room by Vargaz, Jim already was there. He stood in the middle of the little area, arms hanging limply down at his sides. Spock had to swallow in order to moisten his suddenly dry throat, when he saw the look upon his friend’s face.

They were regarding each other solemnly for some time across the distance that was separating them. When Jim spoke again, his voice was sounding distinctly odd.

“Would you like to explain that to me?”

Spock swallowed again. His childlike enthusiasm and optimism suddenly blown out like a candle. He lowered his gaze; he was simply not able to withstand the look in those intense hazel eyes.

“You... are angry?” he ventured. He could hear the rustling of clothes, but did not look up again.

“I’ve asked you something, Spock. Could you explain to me, why I suddenly... why I could...” Jim faltered for a moment, obviously searching for the right words that were currently escaping his grasp. “I could feel you again... in my head, Spock. But I could not only feel you, I could... hear you without hearing any words, it was... I don’t know.”

Spock ventured a look towards his companion. Jim had taken a seat on the bed and was looking down at his hands, which he had spread in front of him.

“I don’t know, if humans are equipped for such things,” he muttered at last. Spock made a step towards him, but the movement caused the man to sharply look up again and fix the Vulcan like a lab specimen.

“What is that? I got aware of it, before I... before I went away. You seemed to already know of it,” he said. There was suspicion in every line of his face. Spock bit the tip of his tongue and looked up and into one of the corners of the room. He had to collect his thoughts, before he cautiously ventured, “It is... a bond, Jim.”

There was silence for a moment, before Jim said, “Bond. You are talking of one of those things that have been... separated from you?”

Once Spock had tried explaining his state of mind towards his friend – when they had still been back in K’troll’s mansion. Jim had tried to understand it, but it had been quickly apparent, that the human simply could not grasp the concept.

That he did think it important enough to remember it, though, caused Spock to lower his gaze in surprise. Jim arched one light brown eyebrow.

“I’m not stupid. I can remember stuff,” he growled and slowly stood up. “So you are telling me, we have one of those... Vulcan bonds? That’s why I can hear you? Or feel... or... whatever.”

Spock nodded slowly, watching Jim.

“How could this have happened?”

“I... am not sure. I have next to no knowledge myself. The only thing that would make sense to me right now, would be, that our minds are simply attuned to one another.”

Spock watched as Jim’s almost closed off face slowly transformed into a look of intense contemplation. He slowly clasped his hands together in front of his stomach, waiting for the human to come to some kind of conclusion. He did not even try and imagine what was probably going on in Jim right now. The thought that his ever present companion could find fault with this bond had never even entered his mind.

Now, tough, watching Jim and the deep lines in his forehead, caused by his intense brooding, made him unsure. The urge to slip to the back of his head and consult the throbbing heat of the bond, was surprisingly great. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? To just go there whenever Jim was his obstinate, secretive human self and Spock did simply not get what was wrong? He could simply interpret through the link they shared, what was gnawing on his companion...

And when Jim suddenly raised his head and hazel eyes defiantly locked with dark, brown orbs, Spock understood.

Jim could obviously sense his thoughts in some way or another – and he feared the fact that it could be the other way around as well. He did not want to be understood – not on this fundamental level. Not by Spock, not by anybody.

It was a strange concept and the Vulcan mused, that it probably was very human, but he could... understand it somehow.

“Spock...”

“Yes, Jim.”

“Do you think this bond can be broken again?”

Spock closed his eyes. The question hurt, but it was necessary.

“I don’t know; we would have to talk to someone, who has more knowledge in these things.”

Jim stood from his perch on the bed and slowly walked to his friend. His face was closed off and somehow hard. Spock wondered what he was thinking. Again there was the urge to just seize the opportunity and dive into their connection.

He resisted yet again – especially in the light of his new epiphany.

And suddenly the face of his friend lit up and the pale pink lips stretched into a smile, while he reached for Spock and placed his hands on the Vulcan’s shoulders.

“This can only help us, Spock. If we can work it, so that you can hear my thoughts as well... we could get out of here!”

The Vulcan blinked a few times. The emotional shift had been way too fast for him.

“Jim...?” he ventured. The human nodded, his still injured hands gripping Spock’s shoulders harder.

“We have to learn to utilize this. Spock, this is brilliant. The only thing...” his smile slid off of his face and the twinkle in his eyes dimmed, “If I ever catch you snooping around in my head... You’re gonna regret it.”

Dark eyes blinked at Jim dumbfounded. The human looked at him for quite some time. His face shifting yet again while his right hand slid from Spock’s shoulder and onto his cheek.

Spock held his breath. He could feel the rough calluses on the worker’s hand and the pleasant thrumming in the back of his head.

The two men gazed at each other. The air between them seemed to grow thicker and thicker while Jim unconsciously started rubbing one high cheekbone with his thumb.

“I can feel you in my head...” he murmured after a while wondrously, “I never thought you’d feel so... strongly about everything.”

Spock’s eyes widened in alarm while his face simultaneously suffused with a bright, green blush. Had he really been pondering if Jim thought this an intrusion? He had not realized that he and his inner workings seemed to be much more displayed for his companion, than the other way round.

Jim’s gaze flicked over the face of his best friend and he slowly shook his head.

“As I said... we’ll have to work on that... and you know, how we’re going to do that?” he whispered, slowly leaning in and raising himself minutely on the balls of his feet.

Spock could feel the breath of the human ghosting over his lips. His heart started beating incredibly fast in his side and a prickling sizzled from the small of his back lazily up his spine. He could only shake his head in mute denial.

Again there was a slow swipe of the thumb over his cheek, before Jim blinked a few times as if clearing his head and almost reluctantly taking a step back.

A blush crept up his thick neck and he roughly shoved one hand into the pocket of his trousers.

“We, Mister Spock, are going to the library and educate us. Maybe we’ll find something.”

He took out the heavily guarded tiepin and looked with a mischievous and slightly tremulous smile to Spock. The Vulcan balled his hands into fists and reigned in his raging hormones.

“A splendid idea, Captain,” he murmured. Jim’s eyes suddenly lit up with a fierce fire.

“Say that again!” he demanded.

The corners of Spock’s mouth slowly curled upwards.

“When you have the door open without triggering the alarm.”

A playful grin danced around the weary face of the human.

“Consider it done,” he growled, while advancing on the panel.

None of them talked about what had been going on between them a few moments prior – though they both felt the pull of the bond quite clearly... and deliciously.

 

When the panel next to the door silently beeped and they heard the distinct kchink! sound of the door latch snapping back, Spock and Jim held their breaths. They stepped quickly backwards, while Jim shoved the tiepin back into his pocket. They waited. One minute, two minutes... ten minutes, without moving from their spots – just standing there like scared rabbits and staring at the innocuous wood of the door.

When Jim at last slowly closed his hand around the manacle circling Spock’s left wrist, they moved practically in tandem.

The door was opened cautiously and the Vulcan peeked outside due to his better vision in the darkness. He did not flinch when Jim’s hand slipped down into his, but gave him first one squeeze in order to acknowledge him and, after another peek outside into the corridor another squeeze that signalled that ‘everything was clear’.

It had been a while now that they’ve had the chance to sneak around at night, but their wordless means of communication was deeply ingrained into them – the fact, that they could feel each other through the bond was almost hindering instead of helping. It was too much information that they still could not handle, but when they concentrated enough, it was possible to shove it out of the way for the moment.

Spock walked quickly but cautiously. He had perfected the art to move without making his chains rattle – often giving the impression that he was gliding regally through hallways. Jim was pricking his ears while he followed his companion, who knew the way.

The human tried desperately to be calm and collected, but Spock could feel the palm of the broad hand in his grasp starting to go slick – the darkness of the corridors obviously was too much for his friend right now. However – they could not turn back. Not now. And he knew that Jim would be more than willing to swallow his fear down, if they only could finally make a step in the right direction again. Get back on track. Get back on their way to freedom.

 

“Here we are,” Spock whispered while pushing a door open. They had not been forced to stop in their tracks even once. The mansion was perfectly calm and deserted in the night. However, neither of them believed in the ostensible peace. A man as powerful as Antonio Vargaz would surely have the perimeters around his estate heavily guarded with various machineries.

Jim pushed past the Vulcan into a large room. It was not as big as the dining hall – that only Spock had seen – but it was at least bigger than their little room upstairs. Jim’s eyes slowly raked the book cases, while Spock dutifully closed the door behind them.

Usually one of them would stand guard while the other educated himself, but this time they were both on edge.

He could feel Jim’s excitement about finally standing where he had wanted to be a month ago, bouncing around in the back of his head and spreading throughout his own being. He surreptitiously wiped the tingling palms of his hands on his trousers, while he watched the human walking between the bookcases with an expression of pure reverence on his handsome face.

“Are you happy now?” Spock asked. He did not need to raise his voice – the deep baritone easily filled the space and when Jim turned around, throwing him a boyish grin, he almost smiled back at him.

“Of course I am! This is perfect, Spock... damn...” he let his fingers carefully run across the backs of a few books and read their titles. The Vulcan watched the play of delicate bones in wounded hands and cocked his head to one side, when Jim suddenly halted in his tracks, took another look at one of the books and then gingerly pulled it out.

The young man stood there in the semi-darkness of the room – so lost in the atmosphere of their exhilarating adventure, that he totally forgot the gloom around them – and browsed through the book.

Spock’s eyelids started to droop, when in the back of his head a delicious wave of joyexcitementlonging exploded and Jim simultaneously to a desk strode that stood directly beneath a huge window.

“Come! Look at this!” the human hissed through the room and what else could Spock do, but comply to the demanding voice and the delicious sparks Jim’s agitation sent through his body?

He came to a halt directly behind his friend, glancing over one strong shoulder towards the page of the book a nail-less finger was pointing at.

Spock needed a few moments to fully process what was being shown, but when he did...

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Jim crooned, his slightly shivering fingers gently carding over the picture of Starfleet Academy in San Francisco – in the early stages of her building.

Spock did not answer, but the rush of breath streaming out of his lungs was enough for the human. Jim still stared down at the page; the love and joy he felt, radiating through the Vulcan like a warm rain in summer.

“Looking at her like this... Spock... I feel like we are about to make it happen. Like we are only biding our time now,” he growled, his voice getting dark and rough. It made Spock’s stomach tickle in a most unexpected way.

“Yesss...” the Vulcan answered, his breath ghosting across Jim’s exposed neck. He could see the little hair on that part of the human’s anatomy starting to stand up and heard the hitch in his friend’s breath.

“Only a couple weeks more, Spock... then we’re free,” Jim murmured. He, too, felt the heady emotions radiating from his ever present companion. The adrenalin rush from their forbidden trip was coursing through their veins and making their blood throb in their ears.

“Yes, Jim. We are free, soon...” Spock murmured, his head sinking forward seemingly without his volition. His lips found a sensitive patch of skin just behind one delicately curved human ear.

“And then you’re going to take me on a night out in San Francisco, aren’t you, Jim? You promised me...” he breathed into the ear and the stocky, muscled body before him shuddered from head to toe.

“Hell yeah, I promised... Spock... it will be the best night of our lives – because it will be the beginning of everything,” Jim ground out. His fingers were clamped around the edge of the desk, without him having taken notice; only when the Vulcan had to gently pry them open again in order to turn his human around, did he note the sting in his wounded fingers.

When Jim’s arse came into contact with the edge of the desk, his breath hitched yet again. He had to tilt his head slightly upwards in order to look into Spock’s dark eyes and his throat got dry when he noticed how dilated the pupils of the gentle creature were.

“Spock...?” he murmured. He felt lightheaded – in a good way. The oh-so-expressive eyes were slowly taking in his face, lingering on hazel eyes, on the tip of a small, upturned nose and finally on full, pale pink lips.

“Jim... I... don’t want to wait until then to start something new...” Spock said slowly. It sounded like he had to force every single word out of himself. A slow blush crept up into his cheeks. Jim could feel the nervousness of the other man thrum through his own being. He could understand it only too well. They both felt uncomfortable with talking about feelings – especially these ones after what they had been forced to do by K’troll.

He could sense Spock’s thoughts in his head without hearing the actual words.

‘Will he be angry with me? Will he be disgusted?’

Jim cut the thoughts and mounting doubts off with a neat kiss right on Spock’s pursed lips. They had to deal with enough shit – why should they beat themselves up now because of something they both so desperately wanted – needed even?

They needed to feel each other – needed the proximity – needed the comfort and consolation. So why should they not give it to one another?

Spock’s eyes seemed to light from within, when he felt the quiet consent from the human trickling through their bond. It was a heady feeling.

His hands gripped Jim’s hips, while his head swooped down in order to capture the lips that had been on his far too briefly. The unresisting body of the smaller man was raised, until he sat on the desk – right next to the still opened book.

Jim wound his arms around Spock’s shoulders. One hand cradled the base of Spock’s skull, fingers carding through silky strands of short hair, the other started carefully tracing the upswept curve of one delicately pointed ear.

‘I knew it!’ he thought fuzzily, when Spock blew a breath out and into his open mouth. He had often wondered, if Spock’s ears were sensitive...

A deep growl emanated from the Vulcan, who insinuated himself now between Jim’s thighs and pawed at the shirt the human was wearing – an endearing mixture of shy tugging and demanding cluelessness.

“Open it,” Jim breathed against wet, panting lips. God, how often he had kissed these green alien lips... but suddenly he could not get enough of it. He stretched his tongue out and traced the full bottom lip of the Vulcan, while long, talented fingers were slipping button after button out of tiny holes.

When Jim’s shirt was open, it was shoved unceremoniously from his broad, muscled shoulders and a dark head bent in order to lick eagerly across one rosy nipple. Jim’s head fell into his neck with a moan that was cut short by a large, hotter-than-human hand, that laid itself upon his panting mouth.

“Shhh... we have to be silent,” Spock urged, his voice deep and husky and the breath tickling over the moist skin of the licked nipple.

Jim’s eyes were raised towards the ceiling and Spock could feel the strangled puffs of air coming out of the human’s quivering nostrils slide over his hand. He waited, while Jim got a grip back on himself and let his fingers trail off of the mouth, down the thick neck and over a collarbone, when the human finally nodded his assent to being silent.

Spock bent his head again, nosing gently at the pebbled, little peak and delicately circling it with his tongue again, while the fingers of his other hand tugged at its counterpart.

His sensitive ears picked up on every tiny sound Jim emanated and he tried to suit his actions accordingly. He had never done this before – not with the intend to actually pull it through – but the clues from his friend’s body, as well as the bond that was overwhelming them both with emotions that were ricocheting through them, helped him immensely.

Jim had to bite his tongue, when one hand laid itself upon the bulge of his genitalia and squeezed carefully.

“Spock...” he croaked, his fingers digging into the shoulders of his best friend, until the alien finally pried his eyes off of the enticing mound his hand was cupping.

“Yes?” he whispered back, his own breathing harsh in his ears.

“Pants off,” the human demanded. It sounded a little slurred due to him licking at the deliciously presented jaw of Spock.

Their hands were fumbling and getting in the way of each other in their haste to open buttons and gingerly lower zippers without causing damage to the sensitive organs below.

“Jim...” Spock breathed awed, when he looked down between them. Their cocks were both on display, after pants and shorts had been shoved haphazardly down on their thighs and the way they were practically straining towards each other looked positively obscene.

The contrast between the erection that was flushed an almost angry red and the one that was covered in a cool, verdant hue, sent a frisson of heat through their bodies.

“Damn... and K’troll thought, we were impotent...” Jim whispered, looking down past his heaving stomach and staring at the both of them with wonder equal to the Vulcan’s. When their gazes met at last – shy and unsure all of a sudden – they felt like little boys that did not even know what they were doing.

Spock chewed on his tongue, the hands that were lying on Jim’s muscled thighs, were clenching every now and again. Jim was... a beautiful human being. He had not seen many humans, but he was sure of it. To suddenly be confronted with the delectable body, spread out in front of him, was somehow... intimidating. If he wanted, he could just take from Jim everything he needed. The strength of the human was no match for him. Did Jim know that? Was he aware of how vulnerable he made himself?

“G-get that off... I want to... I need to see you,” his friend suddenly croaked, while leaning forward and clumsily fumbling on the fastenings of Spock’s own shirt. The Vulcan helped with some strange sense of detachment, until...

...his chest was bare and reverent fingers carded through the silky, black fur covering it, down to the tightly muscled, flat stomach, following the treasure trail.

“Fucking beautiful,” Jim growled deep in the back of his throat and curled his fingers unashamedly around the throbbing shaft of Spock’s erection. And just like that – the Vulcan warrior was reduced to a slave, praying at the altar of his God.

How could he damage this being, when all he needed to do was lay his wonderful fingers around this one part of Spock’s anatomy in order to drain all of his formidable strength out of him?!

As if Jim knew what he was thinking and feeling – which he, in all honesty, probably did – he started laughing quietly, one hand tugging the Vulcan nearer by his throbbing cock, the other guiding his head down, so he could push his laughter directly into an open, panting mouth.

“Thought you had the reins, eh, my great, big Vulcan?” he teased, before strong thighs were raised and curled around slender hips.

“Come...” Jim murmured. Spock was not sure what he meant at first, until...

“AAhhhh,” he moaned, hushing the sound at Jim’s heated neck. Their cocks had found one another and were pressed snugly together. The feeling of the throbbing, virile flesh against his own was...

“Awesome,” Jim whispered breathlessly into one pointed ear.

“Now, Spock... please,” he hissed, biting gently into a lobe and bucking his hips upwards – and Spock knew finally what to do.

He braced his hands on both sides of Jim on the desk, while his slender, untrained hips began undulating, pushing their turgid lengths along each other. The copious amounts of lubrication, that were emitted constantly from a gland seated just below the double ridges of his own length, made the experience to a delicious, slippery grinding.

Open mouths were panting, desperately trying to stifle everything that could be heard outside the room, while their bellies were heaving in their effort and slapping every now and again with a moist smack against one another.

“Faster... ngghh...” Jim demanded. And how could Spock not comply to this creature? This ethereal being? His new deity?

The Vulcan growled deeply in his throat, his arms raising and slipping under Jim’s thighs, until he had the knees of the man hooked over the crooks of his elbows.

Jim’s eyes went wide for a second, before a nervous grin spread across his face and he let himself fall backwards, bracing himself on his own elbows and looking up towards the Vulcan that was towering over him – all dark and powerful and full of masculine, raw strength.

Spock leaned over him. Their eyes met and held.

And then he started thrusting in earnest. Jim’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, when he felt the hot Vulcan cock slip against his own turgid length that was additionally caressed by the fur on Spock’s stomach.

Every now and again his glans were rubbing especially viciously across the soft hair, causing him to buck helplessly up.

His toes were curling in his shoes and his fingers gripped the edge of the desk in a death grip. When he heard a strangled whimper, he forced himself to pry his eyes open. Spock’s face was flushed a delicious shade of green, the tendons in his neck were straining against the metal collar – the chains were tinkling in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Jim... Jim, I...” Spock growled. It sounded helpless. Jim raised one arm and gripped the back of Spock’s head.

“Yes!” was everything he answered, before he pulled him down. They screamed their orgasms into each others mouth, eagerly swallowing the sounds up and burying them deep in their beings, while they were frozen in time as their cocks pulsated and struggled with the effort to deliver spurt after spurt of semen.

Next to them was the book with a picture of Starfleet Academy innocently lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new bond, coupled with two young, healthy men that are stressed out of their minds, causes them to simply short circuit...
> 
> Did I surprise you? Huh... ^^ Next chapter: delicious, delicious psychology... We are going to take a deep dip into everyone's head and see what is up with them. Because, really: Jim has to fight with plenty of stuff, Spock as well - although we know for the most part what's going on in him - and there are still interesting characters such as Vargaz and... oh oh oh... no I'm not going to spoil that.


	17. Chapter 13: Come in and lay down on the couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Light angst

‘Had I known beforehand how to handle them, I’d have had way less injuries,’ Jim complained in his head. There was sweat painting his face and his shirt was clinging to his body – it was an exceptionally hot day and despite the fact that he and the Crep’ka seemed to have come to some kind of uneasy truce, it still was hard work that reminded him of long hours on the Kirk farm in Iowa.

The bond prickling at the back of his head sent a distinct wave of amusement through his being. He sighed and righted himself from his bowed position in order to wipe with the back of his hand across his forehead.

‘Can you understand what I’m thinking?’ he thought, his brows drawing together in concentration. Only four days had elapsed since he had found out about his connection to Spock, but they were already working feverishly on a way to deepen it, so that the Vulcan would be able to sense Jim’s thoughts in the same way as it was possible for the human.

There was nothing verbal coming through, but he sensed a certain kind of confusion from the other side of the bond and sighed. It still was not working the way they hoped. Spock could pick up on Jim’s general emotional state and answer accordingly, but nothing more. It was frustrating.

“Hey.”

Jim swiftly turned around, his whole body gearing up for a fight instantly. He was way more... twitchy since he got back from the mines. The worker, that was supervising him, quickly raised his arms while his eyebrows shot up.

“Woah. Calm down. Just wanted to give you your lunch – you can make a pause. Just bring the beast back into his stable,” the man said while nodding to the bound Crep’ka behind Jim. On one hand the man was balancing a plate with sandwiches, but in the other hand he was holding rather pointedly the little device for the chip in Jim’s back.

The human pressed his lips together and nodded wordlessly.

Five minutes later, sitting on one of the hey rolls, Jim prodded at the sandwiches on his plate. He had no real appetite – his stomach suddenly felt like a log.

‘What is wrong, Jim?’ The impression was floating about in his head. It still made him feel dizzy; he had never experienced something like that and it was disconcerting to suddenly be shown a whole new area of his brain that he never before had accessed – that he thought humans were probably not supposed to have access to.

His lips flattened and he very stubbornly shoved all his negative feelings into the back of his head, where the bond was. At the moment he did not want another guest lurking about in his subconscious.

‘I understand. I’m sorry,’ came Spock’s reply. It did not make matters better, but it was a little consoling at the very least. Jim sat there, staring moodily at his food and contemplating the way he had simply said nothing to his supervisor. Not too long ago he would have talked back and made one quip after the other, trying to rile the man up, just because he was so unsatisfied with everything around him

He still was. But he suddenly did not... well. Jim had to breath very deep and force himself to admit it: He was scared. He was scared that one mishap of his would bring Banta back and maybe that would lead to... the mine. Or maybe something even more terrible.

He had been taken away by Banta two times and each time had been the pure hell. First the Iron Maiden and then the nightmare underground. It had left him twitchy and wrecked. Spock was not allowed to turn off the light at night and when they went on their tours through the mansion, he always left deep indentations in the slender hands of his friend. Spock never complained, but – quite frankly it was embarrassing for a young man who wanted to become the Captain of a Starship. Had anyone ever heard of a Captain that was afraid of the dark? That was so afraid, in fact, that his shirt was sticking to his moist back and his vision got blurry?

He wanted to get his independency back. And he wanted this ridiculous link to work so Spock and he could start on making plans to utilize it. And he wanted to know whether that thing between him and Spock was real, or... not.

Quite a few things for one human being to try and force out of himself. James T. Kirk was a stubborn, highly intelligent man – however, he was also immensely proud and this pride often stood in his way. Spock had told him that it would not be possible for him to just shake the traumata he had endured off like they had been nothing. The Vulcan had told him that he needed to give himself time in order to get over his fears and anxieties. But that was just it, wasn’t it? They simply did not have the time. It was slowly but surely running through their fingers. There was only so much one could learn from books. They needed to get into the swing of things – and fast.

There was a hesitant wave of reassurance trickling through his psyche – emanating from Spock, of course. The human closed his eyes in annoyance and huffed, but felt the tense muscles of his stomach loosen at the same time, until he was able to finally start nibbling on his lunch.

Spock... The atmosphere between them since their frantic rutting in the library – in hindsight the action had been utterly nuts; and that made it all the more delicious and exciting – had been, surprisingly enough, relaxed and friendly.

They got along just as well as before. They did not shy away from one another, but they also did not actively seek out bodily contact. In fact they hadn’t even kissed since that night. Jim’s hazel eyes lazily stared ahead at the other wall. What was it between Spock and himself?

Was it some kind of Stockholm syndrome? Jim braced his shoulders on the wall behind him, drew one leg up and bit into the sandwich with gusto, while his always active brain tackled this probability.

Spock and he had been imprisoned together for almost six years now. They had hated each other in the beginning. They had not been able to stand the attitude of the other. And they still had not changed, had they? Fundamentally Spock and he were still the same persons. So technically they still had to hate each other’s guts. Only... that they didn’t. Quite the opposite in fact. But was it genuine and not simply some twisted psychological phenomenon they were blindly following?

Stockholm syndrome... no, that was not quite what this situation was. However, it was the closest he, with his limited psychological knowledge, could compare it to.

K’troll had been a bastard; K’troll’s servants had been bastards; Banta and Vargaz were bastards. Spock and he had been surrounded by enemies for years now. The only kind words and gentle touches they knew, had been given from one another. It was not surprisingly that they would eventually cave in and seek each other out.

The blond man took another sandwich and bit into it, while his eyes started to squint in contemplation.

Suppose he was right and they were simply following a primal urge to seek comfort and reassurance with the only being they could at the moment. What would that mean for the future? They now had this bond established... What, if they could flee and started hating each other again? Maybe their eyes would open once they got out and they’d see each other in the same light as before. Would that be possible?

And if not – if they still were drawn to one another... would it hinder them in their interactions with others? He thought that he would probably be able to deal with other people. He was cognizant of his problem with authority that had only escalated since his days on Tarsus IV, but he had enough knowledge of the time before to put everything in relation.

What about Spock? The guy could not even remember a time before K’troll. A time before servicing and humiliation and getting beaten down again and again.

Would he be able to function properly? If not, he could not go onto a Starship. He would never be able to fly with Jim into the Universe and explore everything. The thought made everything in him ground to a screeching halt. The bite of sandwich in his mouth suddenly had the texture of dry sand and his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat.

Spock and he not together in Space? Was that a possibility? Was that a reality he had to come to terms with? Jim swallowed the bite with some difficulty and put the plate down at his side, drawing his other leg up onto the hey ball and embracing his knees with his arms.

He felt a curious nudge inside his psyche, causing him another feeling of vertigo. His eyebrows drew together and he tried with all his might to shove Spock back out of his being.

However, this time the Vulcan refused.

‘Don’t be afraid, Jim,’ the words ghosted through the human’s head. ‘Everything will be all right.’

Spock was so optimistic since this bond had been forged. He did not seem as tense or closed off anymore. Or was it only the human’s perception because he could so easily dip into Spock’s emotions and thoughts now? In the end, it was a moot point.

The silent, reverent adoration Spock was sending through their link was enough to make Jim close his eyes and hide his face behind his knees.

He simply could not loose Spock.

 

Vargaz watched his pet from under his lashes. The Vulcan was sitting relaxed at the spot. There was nothing tense in his posture anymore. Not after his little playmate had come back from the mines.

Vargaz slowly braced his left elbow on the desk and put his chin in his hand, while watching Spock. He had no fear of being seen in this leisurely fashion – the Vulcan would not dare to look up without his permission. The thought let a heady wave of arousal sizzle through him. He had the urge to touch the creature and determine its mental state, but he refrained from doing so.

Spock was... exquisite. The way he submitted to him was beautiful. Vargaz had never before really thought about how it would feel to have another being so utterly under his control. He liked being on top and ordering others around – after the life he had led, it had become like a drug to him. But to actually feel so powerful...

The alien was beautiful. At least in his clothed state. Vargaz did not care for the deep scars marring the creamy back, but that could not be helped at the moment. Muddy, brown eyes followed the curve of one delicately pointed ear up to the tip and lingered there.

He wondered idly if Spock would have been able to make a name for himself, if he hadn’t been caught by slavers. Would he have been able to stand above his hybrid blood? The corners of Vargaz’ lips drew slightly downwards.

Probably not. Society was a bitch – on every planet. Hundreds of years ago they had prosecuted homosexuals and people with different skin colours – now they tried burning people on the stake because of the blood pulsing in their veins.

Dirty, ugly blood. Shame for any race. You mutt. You fucking hybrid scum. Don’t belong here – don’t belong there. Your mother was a whore, wasn’t she? No wonder something like you could have sprung into existence.

Vargaz blinked a few times and slowly righted his position, drawing his elbow back from the table and staring at the door in front of him. He thought of days spent on earth in dingy alleys, before his father had decided the fights between the gangs of children was too bothersome and had drawn his son away from the outside world – from the sunlight and fresh air. He remembered months spent in a stuffy house in which various criminals were frequently going in and out. His father had had a name in their world. He had started educating his son while keeping him under his thumb.

Until Vargaz had killed him and fled – and started a new life here on Reigar II.

A slow smile stretched Vargaz lips and he looked again at Spock. Was it wrong to try and keep this creature locked away just as he had been?

He succumbed to his urge and reached for Spock, slowly raising the aristocratic head with fingers laid under his chin and looking into soulful, brown eyes, while he dived into the emotional landscape of the Vulcan. There was curiosity and contentment, mingled with dismay. Maybe he had been dreaming while sitting there, waiting for his master to bestow attention upon him? Vargaz liked the thought. He smiled into the placid face of the kneeling man and swiped his thumb slowly over a silky bottom lip.

No, he did not do to this creature what everyone had done to him – he rescued this man. He protected him from the hatred and bigotry of others that thought mixed blood was dirty. He held him as his prized pet and tried to make him happy... he even had given Spock his little toy back.

Vargaz felt a strange... tranquillity in himself. To have another hybrid here with him... he never had met another one. It made him feel... content. He would never let the Vulcan go.

He simply could not loose Spock.

 

Amanda Grayson had never been only ‘the wife of the Vulcan Ambassador’. Even before meeting her husband she had led an active life in politics and made it a point to further the understanding between humans and other life forms.

Sarek had appreciated her intelligence and fierce devotion to whatever took her fancy – even if he had never openly expressed it. Sometimes he had thought that her strong emotions and her almost spiteful determination to show them would lead to trouble – but if he was honest with himself, he had even hoped for it. The fire in this young human female had shaken up the dry deserts of his Vulcan soul and had brought a summer’s rain to feed the starvation he had not been aware of.

When Spock had been born, Sarek had watched with quiet awe the unruly woman plunge herself into motherhood with just as much enthusiasm as she showed for her work. She had always been protective and empathetic – but the fierce love connecting her to the little hybrid being and the utter devotion she had felt towards Sarek for gifting her with the child had been... humbling.

The weeks and months and years afterwards had left the Ambassador witnessing with almost childlike, secret curiosity the way Amanda changed while still managing to keep her basic compassionate nature. She became more tame and less prone to defend herself – her femininity in front of her stoic husband, or her humanity in midst of a Vulcan society.

Sarek had found himself troubled – thought she was holding herself back in order to make life for Spock a little easer – but eventually he had found out her secret: she was merely picking her fights and the ones she chose to tackle, she fought with astounding efficiency; her adversaries often did not even know that she was working against or around them.

The Vulcan felt almost reluctantly impressed by her cunning.

All of this, however, had found a sudden, violent end with their unfortunate run-in with the slavers. The loss of Spock had nearly brought Amanda down; only her determination that their child was still alive and ‘out there’ and could be found any time had kept her from loosing her mind completely.

The Ambassador only reluctantly thought of the time in which not even he had been able to pull his bondmate out of the deep depression she had fallen into. Not even a telepathic Vulcan could keep a mother from grieving over the loss of her child.

The desperation, hopelessness and especially the helplessness radiating from the usually fiercely independent soul of his wife had felt like a foreign substance to him – disturbing their bond and further weighing them down in an already dire situation.

Sarek thought about all of this, while making his way down a street in Manhattan and turning in towards a tall house – the orphanage. Rain was pouring down around him and the Vulcan had to suppress his urge to draw his shoulders up towards his ears in defence of the cold water that was so against his desert physiology.

Amanda was not often here – usually only when the longing for her own lost son got too heavy for her to bear. She had not been here for a few months; a circumstance that secretly pleased the Vulcan immensely. He thought that surrounding herself with children of the same age Spock had been at the incident was not helping her fierce longing; quite the contrary. However, he also simply could not take this pleasure from her. Amanda had so much love and protection to give – she needed some kind of outlet.

The Vulcan mulled the fact over that she had chosen this special moment to come back to her home-world. His wife was very perceptive; he wondered, if she had somehow felt that he was once again concerned with Spock.

The Vulcan felt a certain sense of contentment at the knowledge that he and Amanda really weren’t that different; they both could not stop gnawing at the problem that was their missing son – they only handled it in different ways.

Sarek stepped upon the front porch, took another look around and pressed the door handle down.

The level of noise upon his entry was tremendous. Children, who were confined to the interior due to the rain outside, were running around and playing. One or two slowed down, openly gaping at the severe looking alien, while Sarek patiently closed his umbrella.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

Sarek slightly turned towards a harassed looking, but still smiling, woman. She held a box with toys in her arms. Sarek folded his hands serenely in front of him while tilting his head in greeting.

“I am looking for she who is my wife.”

A confused light entered the bright blue eyes of the woman and puzzlement caused the corners of her mouth to droop.

“Excuse me?” she asked politely and bowed down towards a little boy that had been tugging on her pants in order to tell him that he had to wait right now.

Sarek waited until she was standing upright once more and patiently explained, “I am looking for my wife – Amanda.”

Understanding lit the face of the young woman, quickly followed by astonishment. She visibly had to collect herself again and cleared her throat.

“Oh...oh! Ah... yes. Just the door to the right over there,” she nodded in the direction of a great door, “she is in the hall right now.”

 

Sarek observed his wife quietly from the sidelines. When she took out a tissue and wiped the face of a little boy clean of angry tears he thought of the time Spock had come home, trying desperately not to cry due to the harassment of the other young children.

He thought of the way Amanda had crouched in front of their son and just stared at the twitching face of the boy. Sarek remembered perfectly the way Spock had stubbornly gazed down on the floor, his lips trembling and his face suffusing an ever deeper shade of green and somehow he had felt incredibly thankful, when the child finally broke out in tears and Amanda took him in her arms. Thankful for his wife who seemed to know how to handle these situations and – oddly enough – thankful for his son that he still allowed this human side in himself – the human side he so dearly loved in Amanda.

Sarek watched his wife slowly getting to her feet and smoothing her clothes. She still was a beautiful woman – even in her mid fifties. She did not deserve the lines of sorrow and grieve in her face. She did not deserve the slight slump to her shoulders or the little melancholy sigh that escaped her lips and reached his ears.

Sometimes he wondered if he had condemned her by bringing her into a society that was so contrary to her fiercely emotional nature.

Sometimes he wondered if everything had been his fault... if he could not have done things differently. If he should have tried and be more... approachable for the tiny hybrid boy.

And Sometimes he got angry – secretly, silently – with himself for being so stubborn and illogical and – a grieving father.

Amanda turned around and her eyes widened when she saw her husband. A loving smile started to grace her lips and when he slowly raised his hand, two fingers extended towards her, she did not hesitate in coming closer and reciprocating the gesture.

As soon as their fingers met, however, her eyes changed from smiling to suspicious. She looked at him with intelligent brown eyes that sometimes seemed to be omniscient.

“What is it?”

 

They sat on a bench in a park. The rain had stopped while he had been looking for his wife in the orphanage and he had decided the cold, fresh air would be beneficial to his task.

Amanda sat at his side, her hands clasped in her lap and staring straight forward. Her jaw was tight and the large muscle jumping.

“... I would like to take you with me back to Reigar II. Doctor McCoy has a daughter and he is afraid she might become a target. We thought you could take her away from the planet while we – “

“I want to see my son.”

Sarek slowly closed his lips and straightened his back a little more – unhurriedly. Amanda very seldom interrupted him. When he spoke again he knew that his voice wasn’t changed for an outsider but that his wife would hear the caution in his inflection.

“This will hardly be possible, Amanda. Spock is currently – “

“Sarek.”

She whipped her head around and pinned him with a stare. The Ambassador felt suddenly astonishingly small – a very illogical notion, because he was 5.7 inches taller than his wife. Amanda continued, “I will not leave that planet, until I have seen my boy. I will not wait until you and this McCoy have gotten him out of there.”

Her eyes shone with a fierce determination Sarek hadn’t seen in a long time. He clasped his hands slowly together in his lap.

“I can understand that you are agitated, my wife.”

“Oh... Oh! You can understand it?” she hissed, although he sensed that she was not as angry with him as it seemed. Her hands were grasping one another, her fingers digging deeply into her skin while her face suffused an agitated red.

“I am not only agitated, Sarek, I am furious! And I’m going to take that Vargaz apart if I can not see my boy as soon as I am on that planet!”

She sprung up from her place on the bench, obviously unable to sit still any longer. Sarek stared at her in silent amazement – wondering where the fiery woman from 30 years ago had come from.

“Come. Come! Don’t sit there! We’re going to take the next shuttle!”

Amanda gripped his wrist, not bothering with any decorum and pulling the dignified Vulcan Ambassador to his feet. He went willingly; he would not stand in the way of the temperamental creature.

While they went she said, “So your plan is to distract Vargaz with that ruse story about the Vulcan settlement while that McCoy tries to get Spock out of there?”

“As well as this other young man, whom I have not met yet. We obviously need to... develop the plan further but fundamentally this is it,” Sarek agreed silently. Amanda was twitchy and shivering. She probably was in some kind of shock. It would not surprise him if she just broke down when they were inside the shuttle.

“That is the plan... okay... okay...” she whispered, while her steps got faster until they were almost running. He indulged her. He felt the many jumbled emotions from his wife batter against his mental shields and wondered, once again, if he had done the right thing. When something went wrong – when something happened to Spock... he would condemn her to a certain death. Amanda would not be able to withstand a second loss of their son.

He wasn’t sure himself, if he would be able to endure it.

 

“That is the plan...” Amanda whispered again, her fingers clawing at the hand of her husband, seeking for hold and strength.

 

Some plans worked. And some... simply did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Training montage (you can search for appropriate Rocky-music :P) and... a meeting that will be so hard... and so good at the same time...


	18. Chapter 14: My baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, violence

Jim stood at the foot of the bed and looked upon Spock. The Vulcan was curled on his side, his mouth opened just that little bit and his chest rising and falling calmly. The human was absolutely still, intent on not waking his friend and just watching him. He hadn’t done so in a long time. In fact, he had stopped watching Spock when he had started getting used to his exotic, alien looks. Standing in the middle of the night in their room – or cell as he liked to call it – and watching the pale complexion of his best friend, illuminated only by the bright silver light of the moon, he got to wonder when exactly Spock had become this... handsome.

Hazel eyes slowly were drifting across a black, shiny cap of hair and delicately pointed ears towards one slanted, silky eyebrow and incredibly long lashes that lay on high, alien cheekbones. Spock’s jaw was strong and angular – utterly male, just like his strong chin and those oddly sensual lips.

Jim frowned when his gaze wandered across the collared neck. Spock had told him about Vargaz ordering Bones to heal the tissue underneath, but he did not think he would ever be able to forget the picture of raw flesh underneath the unrelenting steel. He had not seen Spock often without his shackles. His hands curled into fists with his sudden, seemingly insurmountable desire to rip them away. His heart was starting to pound in his chest and he stared at Spock’s shirt. They had not been able to remove it from the Vulcan, when they had been rutting down in the library. He wondered how his friend would look naked – utterly naked.

He thought of the scarred back of the Vulcan and his fingers tingled in their need to trace each and every one of the indentations or the raised tissue. Spock sometimes had trouble with his back due to the extensive scarring – they got hard and unyielding sometimes, making it hard to move for the gentle creature. Jim idly wondered if he could help make them slick and pliant by licking them regularly...

Heat was starting to pool in his belly, while his face suffused a deep red. It was strange to think of his best friend in this way... but also exciting. He watched as Spock slowly turned on his back, one arm lying across a lean belly. Jim scrutinized the long, slender form. Spock was all angles and planes – not like Jim, whose thick muscles rounded his contours and seemed to make him softer. He remembered a long forgotten episode, when they had first started sleeping in the same bed; awkward teenagers trying desperately not to touch one another, until they lost their patience and accepted their fate.

Jim’s lips stretched into a self deprecating smile when he thought about the way they had hissed and growled at one another, while trying to find a position that would fit their bodies together without any uncomfortable prodding. Nowadays that was no issue any longer – they fit together like a well oiled puzzle. The little groove where Spock’s collarbones met seemed made for Jim’s nose...

The young man leisurely let his gaze wander up and down the long body of his friend, while he thought about the issue that they were so compatible with one another and yet did not seem to get the hang of this telepathic connection. The thought that his human brain was simply not made for this kind of communication had briefly crossed his mind, but he stubbornly didn’t want to consider it. He was more than determined to make this work between them and get them out of here – and that had to count for something. Right?

Six days without any progress had Jim slightly nervous and twitchy. They were so close to their goal – he could practically smell the air of freedom. The question was: how were they supposed to overcome the hurdle that had somehow thrown itself in their way?

‘We have to become more attuned,’ he thought, while he stared unseeingly at the long, pale hand lying on Spock’s stomach. He tried thinking about the last time he had felt really connected to this gentle and yet fierce creature and felt another flush heat his face. The last time he had thought he could practically crawl into his friend and happily live within him had been down in the library... almost one week ago.

Was that... the key? Should they simply try and get more intimate with one another? Try and get more familiar with an aspect that they had up until now kind of refused to acknowledge?

Unerringly Jim’s gaze travelled further down and got stuck at the juncture of Spock’s long legs. One could see nothing through the trousers, but the image of the straining phallus with its pulsing double ridges, pointing towards him like a heat seeking missile had been stuck in the back of his head since he had gotten a glimpse of it in the library.

Jim closed his eyes. A sudden feeling of vertigo was overcoming him. He was almost certain he could smell the wood of crates in a warehouse long in the past and hear a silent voice in his ear.

‘Did you ever suck a cock?’

‘Let’s see, then, how you’ll manage. If you’ll make it good, I can get you a job. A really nice one.’

He thought of rough hands holding his head, while thick, hot flesh was plundering his mouth and he thought of viscous, salty fluid being pumped into him.

Was that what it took to get the two of them to overcome the speed bump in their way? Jim’s stomach was curling into a hard, little stone and he opened his eyes slowly, staring again at the groin of his best friend. He hesitated.

Balling his hands into tight, angry fists, he called himself a coward and determinedly crawled onto the bed, gingerly settling between legs he gently but firmly shoved out of the way – sleeping in the same bed with someone for the better part of six years helped in discerning what could be done and what not.

 

Spock was awoken by a very odd feeling. It was... hot in the room. So hot, that his mouth fell open in silent pants and his blood was pulsing in his veins like lava. The Vulcan heart in his side was fluttering in agitation and his eyes snapped open with a rough gasp. Why was it so hot? Why could he not think straight? A vicious pulsing in his abdomen caused his muscles to constrict. His still sleepy brain was not able to discern if it was pleasurable or painful just yet.

There was a deep, wailing to be heard and only after a few seconds he realized that he was the source of the guttural noise.

A silent “Wow...” made his head snap up and stare down his long torso towards a sight he had never thought he’d be seeing. Jim was lying between his legs, one hand pressing firmly down on Spock’s hipbone, the other curled around the base of the Vulcan’s erection that was proudly jutting out of his open trousers and subjected to the blatant stare of wide hazel eyes gazing at it.

“J-Jim!” Spock croaked, a heated flush suffusing his cheeks. “What are you doing?”

Jim raised his eyes towards him. An answering flush was to be seen in his face and the hand wrapped around the verdant cock was tightening its grip.

“What do you think I’m doing?” came the husky reply. It went straight to Spock’s testicles, it seemed. A deep growl escaped the Vulcan’s throat and two sets of eyes watched kind of dizzily an almost clear drop of fluid slowly emerging from the tiny slit at the top and sitting there glistening and quivering, until Jim slightly tilted the hot length in his hand and caused the drop to slide down a smooth head and across double ridges.

Spock’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

 

It was kind of... nice, actually. Spock did not smell bad at all. The guy had almost no discernible scent to begin with and his arousal only seemed to deepen it marginally. It had not been difficult to get him hot and bothered. The Vulcan was as unused to these stimuli as he himself was and only a few tentative touches caused the flaccid genitalia to rapidly rise out of their nest of dark fur.

And now Jim was lying there, his hand on the cock of his best friend, his ears full with Spock’s moans and he... liked it. Loved it, even. He was so focussed on all the noises he had never heard Spock emit, just from him rubbing his thumb tentatively along the thick, throbbing vein on the underside of the shaft, that he didn’t even get hard himself. His whole body seemed to be primed towards his companion in that moment and it felt... right. Absolutely right.

Slowly Jim started moving his hand, rubbing his calloused thumb every now and again across the glistening head of the erection and gathering the fluid there – although that was not really needed. He watched in utter fascination the double ridges move; they slightly constricted and flared again in an almost hypnotizing rhythm that caused rivulets of moisture to be pressed forth between them, coating the hot verdant flesh in his grasp, until it was sliding slick and without inhibitions between his fingers.

Spock was panting above him like he had run a marathon. It was exhilarating to cause his always uptight and collected friend to totally loose his equilibrium only with a loving hand on his dick. Jim wondered with a tight squeeze of nervousness in his stomach how Spock would react if he was to place his lips around the thick head...

‘Just do it, damn it,’ he thought to himself and only marginally noticed Spock staring at him in a strange way as he opened his mouth wide and, ignoring his uneasiness, wrapped them around the leaking flesh.

His companion almost leapt up the bed, his hands fluttering uselessly about Jim’s head, seemingly unsure what to do with them, while a strangled yelp was smothered in the throat of the Vulcan. Jim closed his eyes, dreading hard hands around his head that would hold him again, while his mouth was plundered, but after a few seconds of nothing happening he risked a peek towards Spock.

The face of his friend was astonishingly open and vulnerable, staring at Jim in utter wonder, while his hands were curling themselves into the blankets underneath them. Slender hips were twitching every now and again upwards, but were valiantly trying to keep still and not hurt the human.

Jim kept staring at him while he dragged the broad side of his tongue in a slow, languid lick across the glans in his mouth. His lips stretched into a gloating smile around the girth of Spock’s length, when soft, dark eyes rolled back and a helpless whimper escaped the Vulcan throat.

Damn it, this was great!

 

“Jim... Jim... I... I...” Spock had started babbling a few moments ago. Jim only was suckling and gently lapping at a few inches of the twitching cock – he had not the confidence to go any further – but it seemed to be more than enough for his companion, who was still trying to keep as passive as possible, although it obviously got more difficult by the second.

Chains were clinking in the darkness around them, while Spock searched without success for any purchase.

When Jim released his slick glans with a pop from his lips and growled, “Come, Spock,” it was too much for him. He snapped up into a sitting position with the strength of his orgasm, his hands no longer able to refrain from burying themselves in thick, silky hair and holding on for dear life, while lava seemed to get pumped out of his pulsing, twitching length – directly into the moist, sucking heat Jim had so graciously provided for him.

Spock felt with utter wonder the slight shifting of the slick tongue against his flesh when Jim swallowed everything that was given to him.

The Vulcan fell backwards against the sheets, his chest rising and falling rapidly, while Jim tugged him slowly back into his pants.

‘I'll definitely have to get better...’

“I think you have been quite skilled already,” Spock croaked and flinched in surprise, when the heavy body of his friend landed upon him and luminous hazel eyes stared right into his face.

“What?!” Jim hissed. Spock flinched slightly. Had he said something inappropriate? Was there something in human sexual interaction he had not been aware of? (There probably was quite a lot, now that he thought about it...)

“I just meant to say that I thought you were already quite adapt...” he slowly said, watching Jim intently. The human interrupted him, “You mean you heard what I just thought?”

“Of course I heard...” This time Spock snapped his mouth shut himself.

His eyes went wide and when Jim started to grin broadly, the corners of his own mouth curved upwards.

They lay there for one or two minutes, relishing the innocent feel of their bodies pressed tightly together, before Jim went into the bathroom in order to brush his teeth.

When he went back he not only crawled into the bed, but straight into Spock’s invitingly opened arms. He slept with his nose snuggled perfectly into the little hollow at the base of Spock’s throat, inhaling the nearly imperceptible scent of his friend.

 

.oOo.

 

“You want him to do what?”

“I haven’t got a babysitter for Joanna and I need to work the shift of a friend of mine in the hospital,” McCoy said. He was speaking into the device wrapped around his wrist while on the couch across from him sat the most unusual couple he had ever seen. The Ambassador’s face was as regal and inexpressive as it had been the last time they had seen one another while his wife sat next to him, leaning forward and staring at McCoy with such fiery intent in her eyes that he thought she would probably chew his face off, if Vargaz was to deny the request now.

“And you want Spock to babysit your daughter,” Vargaz’ amused voice was to be heard.

“He’s better suited for it than Jim.”

“Who?”

“...The human.”

“Oh! Oh yeah... that one. He has quite the mouth on him, I agree.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and McCoy started to bristle. Vargaz was playing with him. He grit his teeth together and growled, “Well?! Do I get him or not?”

“Hmm I don’t know. I’m quite fond of him, I have to admit and it has been proven a few times now that he and that... ah what was his name... Tim? That they are quite cranky, when they’re separated.”

“Vargaz, you fu...” McCoy halted and threw a short glance towards the lady in the room. He cleared his throat and amended, “Vargaz, I need your help in this one. Come on.”

“I could sent Banta. I’m sure she’ll be perfectly happy with him.”

The Doctor blanched and his mouth opened and closed a few times uselessly, before he spluttered, “You will not sent that hulk for my daughter, Vargaz!”

There was laughter on the other side of the line and then a slight rustling.

“Aaahh you are a blast sometimes, Doctor. I tell you what: How about we ask my little pet about what it thinks?”

Again silence and then there was another voice to be heard. McCoy immediately recognized the dark baritone that was saying a little haltingly as if unsure if it was really his time to talk, “I would be... pleased to watch over Doctor McCoy’s daughter, if that is what he wants me to do.”

McCoy almost did not catch Vargaz’ next words over the way Amanda clapped her hands in front of her mouth, her eyes going impossibly wide and tears glistening in them.

“Alright. Then you’ll pick him up tonight before your shift begins. And I’ll be... watching his friend. We’ll have fun together, I’m sure.”

It was a thinly veiled threat to not try any ‘funny business’, for he would have his hands directly around Jim’s throat.

As soon as the call was cut, the woman swivelled around to her husband, her hands shooting out and gripping the expensive garment he wore.

“That was Spock! Sarek! I am absolutely sure. That was him!” she cried out, her face contorting into the strangest grimaces. She was seemingly unable to determine if she wanted to be horrified or delighted.

McCoy stood up and went into the kitchen in order to brew some coffee, while marvelling about mothers and their uncanny ability to identify their children.

 

.oOo.

 

It had been strange days, Spock surmised while he knelt next to Vargaz on the floor and stared at the pattern he would probably never forget again, even if he lived to be 300 years old. They had been... tranquil, for lack of a better word. Vargaz seemed oddly satisfied with his presence. He was careful in his handling with the Vulcan, although he still thought of him more of a pet than a grown man.

At any rate; it gave Spock and Jim enough time to practice their communication via the bond. The tree deep in the recesses of the Vulcan’s mind was still mostly bare, except for a few tentative leafs growing in gaggles around the branches. It was something, at least.

And now Doctor McCoy wanted him to babysit his daughter? Spock stared wondrously upon his hands and slowly curled them into loose fists before opening them again. Life was strange – but exciting.

 

“The Doctor should be here in a couple minutes,” Vargaz drawled, turning around in his chair and looking down at the kneeling man at his side. “Are you excited?” he asked, his lips twitching in amusement. The Vulcan kept staring at the carpet.

“It is... an interesting prospect,” Spock intoned after a while. Vargaz snorted and reached out for Spock, carding his fingers slowly through the silky hair.

“I don’t like giving you away to him... But the Doctor has been loyal for years now – even if he is a giant pain in my arse. I really should pay him back a little, don’t you think?” Vargaz mused, his hand trailing to the side of Spock’s head and his fingers tracing the shape of the pointed ear. Spock breathed deeply. He did not like these touches – he never had. But especially now that he and Jim had started dipping tentatively into their sexuality he was repulsed by the blatant touches of Vargaz and he needed to keep a tight leash on these emotions. He had still no concept of what the man was capable of with his abilities and it would not do to antagonize him.

“It does seem logical, Master. However, I am sure you’ll know what is going to be the... best course of action,” Spock said slowly. He felt the tickling interest of Jim’s presence in the back of his head. His companion had been ‘with him’ for the past half hour, sluggishly communicating and discussing the new prospect of being away from the mansion and with Doctor McCoy.

“Well said... You really are a little gem, aren’t you?” Vargaz drawled, his fingers gliding under Spock’s chin and raising the head of the man. “You are exquisite,” he murmured reverently, raising his other hand and again carding fingers through the black cap of hair.

“Come here,” he murmured, directing Spock until the man was kneeling upright between Vargaz’ spread legs. There was an uneasy fluttering in Spock’s stomach. And he involuntarily started tensing.

“Oh – no, no, no. Don’t do that. I’m not hurting you,” Vargaz cooed, placing his hands around Spock’s face and pulling him near until the Vulcan could feel the hot breath of the other man tickling over his face. Jim was suddenly an almost oppressive, heavy presence in the back of his head.

Spock’s hands started flexing at his side with his nervous energy and when he noticed his lips trembling ever so slightly, he pressed them together and stared determinedly straight into muddy brown eyes.

Vargaz clicked his tongue in reprimand, while his thumbs stroked Spock’s cheeks.

“Don’t be so rebellious, my little pet,” he murmured, “I would never do you any harm. To the contrary: I will protect you. You will never again have to suffer any indignity for your mixed blood, Spock.”

The Vulcan swallowed around the lump in his throat. He got goosebumps from the open sincerity in Vargaz’ face and a faint nausea started creeping up from the depths of his stomach. Vargaz stared for a seemingly unending length of time at Spock before he suddenly dived forward and pressed his lips upon the ones of the Vulcan.

The kiss was short. When Vargaz drew away again, he muttered against the mouth of his slave, “I can’t be without you anymore. You will sleep in my rooms again after tonight. I want you at my side 24/7. You are mine, you exquisite creature!”

The fierceness in Vargaz’ voice, paired with a second kiss, more demanding than the first, made Jim roar in indignation at the back of Spock’s head, rendering the Vulcan unable to compute all the different sensations he had to keep track of in that moment.

When a wet tongue slithered its way between his lips, Spock helplessly opened them under the onslaught, reeling from the emotions that were not only pouring in from his connection with Jim but also suddenly from Vargaz.

They were only interrupted by a knock on the door and Banta’s dispassionate voice informing them of Doctor McCoy’s arrival.

If the Triptochid had been surprised to see his Boss molesting the slave, he hadn’t let anything on.

 

.oOo.

 

While driving McCoy chanced a glance towards the silent man at his side every now and again. He had not anticipated Spock jumping for joy at getting out of the mansion, but he would at least have thought there a little elation to be felt. His charge, however, was sitting silently in the passenger seat, his hands curled tightly into the fabric of his trousers and his eyes fixed upon the street ahead.

“What’s up? Aren’t you happy to be out of there for an evening?” McCoy asked after a while. Spock flinched ever so slightly, turned his head and blinked owlishly at him.

“The distance is too big. A can’t maintain my bond with Jim,” he answered cryptically. McCoy frowned and slowed down a little in order to converse more easily with the obviously confused alien.

“Spock – are you alright? You seem odd.”

Spock turned away again, looking out at the street. He was silent for so long that McCoy thought he would not answer, but then, “My Master has kissed me. Jim was not happy about it.”

And that was it – McCoy got no further information out of the Vulcan.

 

.oOo.

 

“Boss?” Banta said, while shoving Jim unceremoniously into the office of Vargaz. The man in question had been staring with an odd expression into the distance and snapped to attention, frowning at the obviously seething human standing in the middle of the room and glaring daggers at him.

“What?” he asked, without taking his eyes off of the blond man.

“I just got news that McCoy went back into the house with the Vulcan. He has not come back out again – he obviously has lied about needing a babysitter.”

Vargaz’ eyebrows raised themselves.

“Is that so?” he muttered, while trying to fathom why the human was looking so upset. “Interesting. I wonder what the good Doctor is up to. Ah well. They won’t try any funny business with him still being here.”

Vargaz slowly stood up and went around the desk. He reached for Jim in order to discern what was going on in him, but the human slapped his hand forcefully to the side and hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

Mere seconds later the man was falling to his knees due to painful shocks wrecking his body. Banta was holding the device to Jim’s chip in his hands and kept the electricity up for as long as it took for Jim to abandon his stubborn kneeling position and start writhing screaming on the floor.

Only when a trickle of blood started running down his chin – an indicator that he had bit his tongue in his struggles – did Banta loosen his hold on the device.

While the human was lying twitching and raggedly breathing on the floor, Vargaz squatted down and pressed his hand against the throbbing vein in the thick neck. Moments later an unholy fire filled muddy brown eyes.

 

.oOo.

 

McCoy was watching Spock from about a metre away. The Vulcan had stepped out of the hovercar and remained frozen to the spot, standing on the sidewalk and simply staring at the little houses that were lining the street up and down. It was no exceptionally beautiful neighbourhood but it was alright in McCoy’s opinion.

He slowly rounded the young man, peering in the austere face and trying to discern what was going on inside him. It was near impossible – he could not interpret the minute twitch of a slanted eyebrow or the curling of the corner of Spock’s mouth. When two minutes had gone by with Spock just standing and staring, the Doctor started getting twitchy. Spock was, after all, still wearing his shackles and it would not do for any of the nosy neighbours to see that.

“Spock. What is it?” he asked at last, his voice gruff. The Vulcan slowly turned his head towards him and said in a way that made clear he was carefully weighing out his every word, “I have never seen so many little houses.”

McCoy felt a huge lump form in his throat. He only grunted and made an impatient gesture with his hand for Spock to follow. It would not do for the Vulcan to see how much the implications of that sentence had thrown the Doctor off of his game.

 

McCoy almost ran into Spock, when the young man came to an abrupt halt in the doorway of the living room. For one or two heartbeats there was absolute silence, until Spock made a tiny step backwards and threw a gaze of confusion over his shoulder towards McCoy.

“The... Ambassador?” he asked, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence. The Doctor bit the tip of his tongue. What on earth should he say now? They had never discussed how this whole thing was supposed to go and the suddenly visible signs of Spock’s nervousness were no good omen.

When McCoy said nothing, Spock turned back. The Doctor watched with trepidation as the Vulcan stared at the Ambassador and his wife, who was practically vibrating at his side, her face pale as a ghost and her eyes – that were a perfect replica of Spock’s, the Doctor realized – seemed even bigger and darker than usual.

“Spock...” she whispered at last, taking a shaking step towards the half-Vulcan. Spock stiffened.

“Excuse me, please. I... where do you...” His mouth simply snapped shut, he started shivering and his already pale complexion got positively pasty. McCoy thought with grim amusement that it would not do at all, if Spock chose that moment to faint on the spot.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Amanda whispered and took another step towards him. Her arms were raising seemingly without her volition. Her hands were shaking like leafs and Sarek stepped up next to her, his hand landing on her back to support her. Spock just stood and stared, his eyes gliding from the Ambassador to Amanda and back again.

Amanda looked like her heart was about to break in two, the corners of her mouth twitching in her effort not to start crying. Her voice was breaking, when she croaked, “I’m your mother, Spock.”

Silence.

Spock’s head snapped around, shooting – of all people – McCoy a look clearly seeking for help. When the Doctor just stared back, unable to form any response, because he had no idea what was going on in the young man, Spock took a hasty step back. Then another one. Then a third one – stumbling over an ottoman standing behind him and almost falling to the floor, if he hadn’t caught the backrest of one of the armchairs. His chains had been tinkling loud in the utter silence of the room and Amanda’s hands flew up to her mouth, her eyes wide in utter shock, when she finally caught sight of them.

Unable to keep on her place any longer, she cried out, “Oh, Spock!” rushing towards the half-Vulcan and drawing him into her arms. Both McCoy and Sarek jerked towards them when Spock went absolutely rigid in his mother’s arms, his muscles twitching convulsively. If the young man decided to vent his confusion in violence, it could have disastrous consequences for the fragile human woman, clinging to him and pressing her face into the chest of her long lost son.

But suddenly – every resistance seemed to drain out of the lean body. He just... stood there, letting himself be squeezed by a woman, who had to be a total stranger to him and stared down at her brown, curly hair that was cascading down her shoulders and back and was peppered with grey.

 

It was like a probe was directly applied to the very centre of Spock’s brain and suffusing it with electrical shocks, when the smell gently waving up from the hair of this woman, crawled into his nostrils and seemingly right through the thick bone of his skull. He did remember so little of his life before. But this. THIS he remembered. Tulips. The smell of tulips from her hair, enclosing him like a warm blanket.

Spock went to his knees.

 

McCoy felt like an intruder, watching Spock stumbling to his knees and press his face against the stomach of this woman. He averted his eyes and they automatically fell upon the Ambassador, standing there seemingly rooted to the spot, his dark eyes intently surveying the way Amanda embraced the head of this young man and cooed silently, while rocking back and forth. McCoy slowly looked down and saw Vulcan hands curled into tight fists.

He was almost relieved when he heard Joanna call for him – he needed to give the family the peace they required at the moment.

 

.oOo.

 

“You are in love with him? How quaint,” Vargaz taunted, rounding Kirk and nudging him every now and again with his boot. “He is mine, you know. It is fortunate that I have ascertained your intentions before you could lay your filthy hands upon my pet and defile him with your wretchedness... human scum.”

Vargaz’ face twisted into a mask of hatred, when he kicked Jim viciously into the back. The man only hissed, rolling with shivering limbs onto all fours and trying to get into an upright position.

“He won’t be coming back to you after tonight. I will keep him in my rooms,” Vargaz continued, his eyes intently fixed upon Jim. “He’ll soon forget you. I can give him everything he could ever desire. Maybe I’ll sent you back into the mines, eh? How about that? The further you are away the less your filthy influence on my precious, little –”

“Shut up, you sick fuck!” Jim hissed, hazel eyes sparkling with hatred and unholy joy, as his hand shot out and curled around Vargaz’ wrist, drawing him with a sharp tug down towards him until they were eye to eye.

“Are you totally insane? Spock would never, never let himself be ensnared by a sick weirdo. Do you think he likes you? He can’t even stand being touched by you! You are repulsive to him! Did you fall in love with Spock? Eh? Have you dreamed a Happy End for you and him? Well, joke’s on you! Spock is mine, he was mine and he will always be mine! My friend, my brother and...” a short pause, heated hazel eyes flaring in triumph, “... my lover. And if you take me away from him, he will despise you even more than he already does. He will hate you.”

Even before he had ended talking, he knew that he had made an error. However, he simply could not sit here and listen to Vargaz rambling on, while the white hot anger of having had to witness this creep kiss his boyfriend, still coursed through his veins.

Vargaz had become very pale under his otherwise dark complexion and he stared for a few seconds wordlessly at the human kneeling in front of him. Only when Banta shifted uneasily on his place, did the man snap out of his total stupor.

He wrenched his wrist away from Jim’s grasp and stared into the triumphantly grinning handsome face of the young man. His voice sounded husky, when he asked Banta, “We have been warning him about his loose tongue, haven’t we, Banta?”

“Yep, boss. We have.”

“Then show him the consequences.”

“Yes, boss.”

Jim blanched when the huge Triptochid grasped his scruff and dragged his weakly struggling body out of the room.

 

.oOo.

 

When McCoy had went back into the living room, the family had moved. They were sitting on the couch, not speaking a word. Spock was only staring at his parents in quiet confusion and such open vulnerability that McCoy had to avert his gaze. Although the half-Vulcan clearly had no idea how to handle this situation, he was sitting very close to his mother, his thigh pressed against hers and he let her hold his hands and caress his arms or his face.

McCoy was not sure if they had spoken even one word. He doubted that there even were words.

“I... have to take him back now,” he silently intoned, after he had politely cleared his throat. Amanda’s eyes got big in dismay and she quickly reached up, cupping the face of her son and pressing her forehead against his.

“It’s too soon,” she moaned with utter heartbreak. Sarek slowly raised his hand – McCoy noticed it shivering ever so slightly – and placed it carefully between the shoulder blades of his wife. He did not say anything, but she pressed out a shuddering breath.

There was again silence in the room and McCoy shifted uneasily on his place. He thought about talking to Sarek and getting the Ambassador to entangle wife and son, but to his utter astonishment it was Spock, who raised his hands and oh-so-gently drew the arms of his mother away. He even spoke; his dark voice was almost inaudible, but it was clear enough, “I want to go to Jim.”

That – surprised him. As well as his mother obviously, because she shot him a slightly confused look. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“His friend,” he elaborated, “he is still in the mansion.”

“I need to go to him,” Spock whispered and damn, if he didn’t look as torn as McCoy had ever seen someone look. Huge, dark eyes were fixed with utter confusion and disbelief and almost fear upon the two persons who should be the most important in his life and were... so foreign to him. Was it so surprising that Spock needed – craved – the presence of his one constant companion to comfort his raging emotions?

And yet, though Spock had said loud and clearly that he needed to go, he sat there and stared at his Vulcan father and his human mother and his lips started to wobble in an all too childish way and McCoy had to look away for the third time this evening.

 

“You two have to keep on your toes. Your father will try and get further into Vargaz’ good graces. As soon as Vargaz starts trusting him and lets down his guard, the Ambassador will try and keep him and Banta occupied so I can try and get you and Jim out of there. It would be nice if you could start trying to look for escape routs and some such. Spock... are you even listening?”

McCoy turned towards the man in his car. Spock sat there, looking out into the black night. He did not even twitch with an eyebrow – he was totally out of it and sunken deep into his thoughts. The Doctor huffed.

When the hovercar came to a halt in front of the huge gates guarding the path that was winding through the little ring of forest towards Vargaz’ mansion, he turned towards Spock and laid his hand upon the alien’s arm. Spock flinched and snapped around, staring at McCoy with wide eyes.

“Keep alert. I will contact you in the next few days,” the Doctor said with a low, soothing voice. Spock nodded numbly.

McCoy watched him walk to the gate and a few seconds later slipping through it. He was quickly engulfed by the shadows. The Doctor felt exhausted himself after having witnessed so much emotion that night.

When he drove away, little did he know that he would be at the very same spot very soon – and that there would be much more emotional upheaval that night.

 

.oOo.

 

Spock felt... hollow inside. He simply felt nothing. It was as if the emotions of before had poured out of him with the tears he had silently shed onto his mother’s clothes. His mother. His father.

Spock walked like a zombie, his head bent and eyes fixed on the ground. He simply could not... He could not... it was unfathomable. The whole concept totally eluded him.

Would Jim be able to help him? Would he be excited? Would he be happy for him? The thought of his companion brought a little amount of tranquillity and warmth back into his being. His steps got faster, when he sought out the connection with his best friend that had been cut due to the distance separating him.

He needed the soothing, warm glow of Jim in the back of his head...

Anger and agony suddenly rammed into him and caused him to stumble so badly that he fell to his knees for the second time that night. His heart skipped a beat and his eyes felt like they were about to explode as wave upon wave of the strongest, vilest, most destructive emotions poured through his being and in midst of them Jim’s screaming – no, screeching – voice.

‘Oh God! Spock! My tongue! My tongue! Spock! Spock! SPOCK, MY TONNGGGUE!!’

The Vulcan was on his feet and running. Running for dear life the long way towards the mansion. All thoughts about parents were blown out of his skull and replaced by agonyheatfearangerspockneedcomehelp.


	19. Chapter 15: All good things come to an end. What's with the bad things?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mutilation, heavy violence, angst (Please read with caution)

The pull of the bond was unrelenting. Spock mindlessly ran, his chains causing a ruckus in the still air of the slowly cooling night. The mansion was lying for the most part in darkness – only a gaggle of windows were illuminated in the servant-quarters and one on the far left on the first floor – the office of Antonio Vargaz.

Spock barrelled through the huge front doors. His ears picked up the faint electronic beeping behind him and somewhere he was aware that Vargaz would know immediately that he was back on the estate, but all these information took a backseat in light of the unrelenting waves of pure terror and agony exploding in the back of his head and the screams of Jim’s panic and hurt ricocheting around, bouncing off of the walls of his skull.

The half-Vulcan moaned faintly when the pull dragged him through the house and towards doors that he had only once passed during his stay with Vargaz: they were leading down into the cellars. The cellars where Banta had his torturing chamber and where somewhere in the labyrinthine construction his old set of shackles were probably still lying around.

His breath was harsh and his heartbeat pounding in his ears, while his legs followed the cry of the bond. His body was itching and prickling with the nervous energy mounting inside him. Spock rounded a corner, coming to an abrupt halt, when he saw one of the doors opened and flickering yellow light pouring through the doorframe, painting a bright stripe into the harsh darkness of the dungeon. Sensitive Vulcan ears could pick up a low, gurgling, wailing sound coming from the direction of the doors and Spock leaned actually a little back in his reluctance to go any nearer.

A bulking shadow stepped in front of the light and the Vulcan was for a few precious seconds blind, until the form of the man stepped away from the doorframe and gave the light free once more.

It was Banta.

The two were staring at each other across the distance separating them. The three eyes were fixed directly on Spock, but the Vulcan was not able to discern the expression in the hard face. Was Banta surprised to find him suddenly standing down here? Was he angered? Amused?

When the Triptochid spoke, even his voice did not give away his thoughts on the matter.

“Take him away into your room. He’s got enough for one night.”

The wailing still coming out of the room behind Banta made Spock sick to his stomach. His knees started wobbling and he nearly ducked away from the Triptochid, when the burly alien started making his way in slow, measured steps towards him.

The slow thudding of his boots on the stone floor seemed excruciatingly loud and only accentuated the gurgling and wailing. Jim had stopped talking in Spock’s head a while ago and the Vulcan was not entirely sure, if he was thankful for it.

Banta was passing him now. Spock could see from this close proximity huge, dark, glistening spots on the clothes of the Triptochid. A metallic, sweet tang emanated from them. Blood.

Spock was rooted to the spot, his abdominal muscles quivering and shaking and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was having a nightmare of gargantuan dimensions and he would wake in the next few seconds and be in Jim’s arms and everything would be alright –

Banta came to a halt mere steps behind him and said casually, “I’d be on my toes, if I were you... Vulcan.”

The wailing from the room suddenly stopped. The waves of terror and anguish dulled to a throb that was almost harder to bear than anything before.

Spock jerked into action, no longer minding Banta or the smell of blood or his terrified body, that was just about ready to loose control of his bladder – Spock stumbled towards the stripe of yellow light and clawed at the frame of the door. He used the leverage to swing his limp body around and just stood there, staring into the torture chamber Jim had only ever described to him.

It was not hard to spot his friend. He was lying in the middle of the floor right next to a huge, wooden bank. A stretching bank. There was blood smeared on its surface. Had Jim been shackled to the hard surface until Banta had loosened the restraints? Spock stared at his friend. The human was half crouching half lying on the floor, his whole body shivering and the shirt he wore plastered to his back and sides where sweat had drenched it.

“Jim...” Spock croaked at last, after he had found his voice again. A shudder ran through the twitching body from head to toe.

“Uuhhnnghhh...” came the inarticulate response. Spock was starting to pant, his fingernails digging deep into the wood of the doorframe.

“Jim... what has happened?”

The young man let his head hang low and swung it uncoordinated from side to side in denial. The pain in the back of Spock’s head was spiking in intervals he could not make out just yet.

There was a gurgling, bubbling sound coming from Jim and again that low wailing accompanied it. A wet sobbing shook the shoulders of his best friend and Spock finally loosened his death grip on the wood in order to make his way towards Jim with numb legs. The air was filled with the stench of blood. When Spock stepped a little to the side, he could see a pool of the red liquid below the jerking body. There was still some of it dripping down and adding to the slick mass.

“What has happened... Jim...” Spock whispered and went down on his knees next to his friend. His hand was shaking so hard that his shackles were rattling, when he gingerly put it down on Jim’s shoulder. Pure animal pain was emanating from the human by this point. He was obviously in no condition any longer to articulate any of his feelings.

Spock wound his arms around shaking shoulders and ignored the pained whimpering and moist gurgling, when he drew the unresisting body around and unto his lap.

Finally he could get a look of Jim’s face. He was deathly pale, the pupils in his hazel eyes tiny little pinpricks, swimming in a sea of colour, darkgreen in agony.

Lips and chin of the man were covered in thick, glistening blood. They stared at one another. Spock was not sure what to say or do. Jim raised one hand and it was cramped like a claw. When it seized Spock’s shirt and dug deep into it, the Vulcan had the feeling that his friend would not ever let it go again.

Jim opened his mouth and another stream of blood was pouring out over his chin and neck, where it was soaked up by his shirt.

And finally the Vulcan saw what was wrong. Banta had cut the tongue of his best friend and constant companion... out of his mouth.

 

Jim was not weighing much. At least Spock didn’t really feel him as a burden in his arms. Maybe it was simply the fact that the Vulcan had desperately shut all emotional responses down and was simply working as a computer right now. The pale, narrow face was hard and the dark eyes no longer filled with gentle uncertainty but pure and unadulterated murder.

Spock’s gait was not hurried, but full of intent, while he cradled the shivering body of Jim in his arms and walked through the hallways of the mansion. The human had gone deathly quiet in his arms. Only every now and again he was shuddering mightily from head to toe or was producing wet, gurgling sounds that could almost not even be called ‘moans’ anymore.

The Vulcan was concentrating on their bond. He had wrapped the glowing tree in his own presence and was bathing the hurting stem and bristling branches in his very essence in the hopes that it would calm his companion down enough to be functional.

“One last time, Jim. You have to be strong one last time. This is it. It is going to end tonight,” Spock whispered with a rough voice, when they turned into the corridor where their room was. The Vulcan pressed his face into thick, blond hair, not minding the fact that he was smearing himself with Jim’s blood even more. He pressed an absentminded kiss onto the head of his companion and whispered.

“Tonight we are going to get free – or we die trying.”

‘I want to die,’ came the indistinct response from the human in his arms. It was directly in his head. Spock’s grip on Jim went almost murderous.

“Don’t say that!” he barked. He had never spoken to Jim that way, but it could simply not be helped in that moment. “You are going to fucking keep it together and fight with me! Have you heard? You are going to fight, Jim and if you don’t, then I swear to God or all other deities out there: I will hunt you down. Did you get it? Did you understand that?!” Spock hissed, his forehead pressed so tightly to Jim’s, that the human whimpered and pressed his eyes shut. Hot tears leaked down his temples and bloody bubbles were forming over his lips, but he was nodding nonetheless and hanging on for dear life while the Vulcan kicked the door to their quarters viciously open. Banta had made a fatal mistake in underestimating Spock. He should not have let his guard down, thinking that they would just placidly accept being handled that way. They were alone right now. No one there to shut that door behind them.

They would flee.

Spock laid his precious burden oh-so-gently down upon the bed, stroking with a calm hand over the smeared hair of the panting human.

“Wait here. I have to go into the bathroom for a moment.”

‘Don’t want to be alone...’

“You won’t be. Wait.”

Jim’s luminous eyes were fixed trustingly upon him. Their pupils were still tiny pinpricks – a sure sign that the young man was still in shock and simply running on auto-pilot at the moment. Spock made a beeline for the little crate in the corner of the bathroom. He ripped it open and drew the two items – the scalpel and communication’s device from Doctor McCoy – out of the hole underneath.

Spock’s fingers were working with deadly precision at the many little dials, while his sensitive ears were focussing on the sounds it emitted.

“Doctor McCoy?” he spoke into it. He had to repeat it a few times until there was a garbled response.

“Spock? Is that you?”

“It is. I need you to come back to the mansion and pick Jim and myself up. Jim needs desperately medical attention.”

There was a very short pause. Spock thought he could hear in the background a female voice – what exactly she was saying was unclear to him.

“What has happened?”

“They cut out his tongue.”

“WHAT?!”

“Doctor, I am going to remove the chip from Jim’s back and then I am going to get him out of here. I beg you to come and pick us up. If you are not willing to, however, I can understand it. I want to thank you for all your assistance and that you... found my parents for me. Tell them... tell... tell them, that it has been an honour.”

“Sp-Spock! Wait, what are you...”

But the Vulcan let the device already fall to the floor and, gripping the scalpel, rushed back into the room where his injured friend was lying. Jim had rolled onto his side and was dry heaving. A pool of blood was on the edge of the bed and slowly dripping down its side. He was pale and sweating and shivering all over. The Vulcan’s heart sank when he realized that the human was holding on to his conscience with a thin thread.

He also made strange sounding gulping sounds. Spock could at the moment not fathom what implications a lost tongue would have on the area of Jim’s mouth and throat, but he knew that he had to have tremendous trouble swallowing. Spock had never really prayed... but now he prayed desperately for his friend to hold on and not suffocate on his own blood.

Spock’s voice was only trembling ever so slightly, when he stepped towards the bed and spoke as loud and clear as possible, “Jim, I am going to cut the chip out of your back.”

There was no response. Spock grit his teeth together and seized his friend, turning him over onto his stomach and shoving his shirt unceremoniously upwards, until he could clearly see the square bump right next to the spine.

He straddled Jim’s thighs and clamped his knees tightly around the human’s hips, preventing him from making an unfortunate move.

Jim, scared out of his mind, started whimpering pitifully and retched for the second time blood and stomach acid onto the sheet below. Spock pressed a soothing hand between the shoulder blades, his heart aching for his distressed friend.

“Jim... Jim, do you hear me?” he spoke as urgently as he thought he could get away with. It would not do to agitate his companion further. Only a little tingling at the back of his head told him that the human was, indeed, somehow listening. Spock placed the sharp tip of the scalpel above the point where the skin rose and stretched over the chip.

“I love you,” Spock growled with fire in his voice. Then he started cutting.

 

.oOo.

 

McCoy looked towards Sarek, Amanda and Joanna. All three were standing with him in his living room. He had just stepped inside, when the communicator on his wrist had gone off like crazy. They were totally silent, frozen for precious seconds in the utter horror in the face of the message that had been rather garbled but all in all perfectly understandable.

“Whose... tongue has been cut out, Dad?” Joanna asked after a while with a trembling voice, her eyes wide and round. McCoy snapped out of his stupor. Ignoring the question of his daughter, he ran out of the room and into his little office, where the bag stood, which he used regularly when going to Vargaz.

“Ambassador – we are going there,” he yelled.

“Of course,” the Vulcan replied stoically, stepping out into the hallway and waiting for the Doctor. He was looking so perfectly calm that McCoy somehow had the urge to strangle him for it.

Amanda stepped outside of the living room as well. She was pale, but her chin was raised in defiance and her hands curled into fists at her side.

“I am going as well!” she said. McCoy shook his head, but Sarek beat him to it. “No, you won’t.”

“Sarek, I’m not going to wait here and twiddle my thumbs, while my boy – “

“Amanda,” Sarek interrupted. His dark eyes fixed upon her with such intent that it raised goosebumps all over McCoy’s arms. The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes swimming in tears.

“Sarek,” she pleaded, her voice slightly breaking, “He’s my son.”

“I know... but you won’t be able to help in this instance, my dear. Please,” the Vulcan intoned. He sounded somewhat... tired. McCoy saw a movement behind the struggling woman and pointed towards it.

“Please. Someone has to watch for Joanna. I can’t leave her alone,” he begged. In his head he was already at the mansion, wondering if Jim’s tongue was actually gone; and mentally going through tedious procedures that would be able to regrow it...

There were tears streaming down Amanda’s face, although she was still standing strong and proud in the doorway. A lioness that would do everything for her cub. She actually looked like she wanted to fight over it and McCoy felt a strange mixture of understanding and impatience towards her.

“Amanda. Spock is my son as well. Don’t you think, that I would do everything in my power to get him back?”

McCoy actually flinched when he heard the words from Sarek. The voice of the Ambassador had been low – so low, that it had been almost impossible to hear; as if he was ashamed of speaking them aloud. But they were sincere, nonetheless.

Something in Amanda’s face seemed to shatter, her fingers curling into her dress and the corners of her mouth twitching tremendously. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red from the salty moisture and her face blotched; all in all no pretty picture. And yet the Doctor thought he had never seen a more beautifully proud woman.

“Save my son... I beg of you,” she whispered brokenly at last.

No one said more after that. They had to hurry.

 

.oOo.

 

Vargaz heard the door of his office click. He did not need to look up, for he could identify the heavy steps on the carpet with ease.

“Have you taught him a lesson?” he asked silently. He was pretending to read a document, but to be honest he had not been able to concentrate on it. He had been sitting here since Banta had dragged the screaming man out of the room and his words had been bouncing around his head endlessly.

Could it be that Spock was only... playing with him? But he had been dipping in his emotions every now and again and although there had been fear and trepidation... there had also been a good amount of affection.

A fellow hybrid would not dare treat him like one of those street urchins back on earth. He simply wouldn’t... would he?

‘Spock is mine, he was mine and he will always be mine!’ the voice of the unruly human was still taunting him with these words. He looked heatedly up towards Banta and recoiled slightly when he saw the dark, glistening splotches of blood on the garments of the Triptochid.

“I have, boss. I ordered the Vulcan to bring him back into their room,” Banta answered. Vargaz’ face twisted in repulsion and he made it a point to look into the Triptochid’s eyes and no longer at his clothes.

“Ah, yes. The alarm went off a few minutes ago. I saw him on the security cameras. He went down into the cellar...?” Vargaz’ stomach twisted into a tight knot at the thought that his pet had gone down to this runt and not come to him. Banta, oblivious to Vargaz’ thoughts, just shrugged his muscled shoulders.

“Yep,” he answered simply. Vargaz wanted to say something else, but in that moment a chirping alarm on his desk went off.

He whirled around in his chair towards his computer and started typing. His forehead slowly but surely started to crease in a dubious frown. Banta stepped towards the desk, peering on the screen.

“What is it, boss?” he asked.

“The sensors have picked up on a strange interference in the servant’s quarters...”, Vargaz muttered, bringing his hand up and rubbing across his chin. They were silent for a minute or so, contemplating what interference that could have been, until there was a chirping from Banta’s breast pocket.

The Triptochid drew a mobile phone out of it, flipped it open and held it against his ear.

“Hm?” he grunted inside. Vargaz paid him no mind – he was starting to type on the keyboard again, trying to discern what kind of interference that had been. He was so immersed in his work that he hissed in startled annoyance when Banta suddenly exclaimed, “What?!”

Vargaz whirled around, shooting the bodyguard a hateful glance. Banta snapped his phone close and stared in dumb wonder at his boss.

“There has been movement in McCoy’s house and just now he had stepped out of it – with the Ambassador of Vulcan.”

Vargaz’ eyes slowly widened, while his mouth started to gape open in stunned shock.

“Are you kidding me?” he croaked at last. Banta shook his head in mute denial. Vargaz was many things – but an idiot was none of them. The wheels in his head started spinning so fast that he almost got dizzy from his own thoughts flying through his mind.

And all of a sudden – everything seemed to come together. McCoy taking Spock away in order to babysit his daughter – and then staying home himself. A mysterious interference from the servant’s quarters. Ambassador Sarek – a Vulcan – residing in McCoy’s house without informing him, that he was back on the planet.

And least of all – his mouth got dry and his stomach convulsed painfully – his two slaves alone and unguarded somewhere in the mansion.

“Shit,” Vargaz whispered and raised his wide open eyes to Banta in dumb awe. The Triptochid – not able to put everything together – just stared mutely at his boss, until Vargaz snapped to attention and shot up from his chair.

“Stop them!” he screeched, face suffusing red and pointing with a shaking arm towards the door, “They want to flee, you oaf!”

 

.oOo.

 

Spock was carrying Jim on his arms again. The human was only barely lucid anymore; he was hanging limp in the grasping arms, his face hid against the chest of his Vulcan and his hands curled in to himself against his stomach in a strange foetal position that was making Spock feel unbelievably uneasy. Only every now and again a little, high pitched sound was escaping from the creature in his arms and every time it cut straight through his being.

The Vulcan had not taken long in his impromptu operation of his friend. In fact, it had been ridiculously easy in the end. His fingers were still slick from the warm blood of his best friend and the mere thought of shoving them into his flesh was causing all the little hair on his body to stand up in repulsion, but he had grasped the chip and simply wrenched it out of Jim’s flesh. The man had not even twitched anymore at this point. He had been simply lying on his stomach, enduring everything in stunned silence. The chip was now sitting securely in the pocket of Spock’s trousers. He could not clearly say, why he hadn’t thrown the infernal piece of technique down to the ground and smashed it with his heel, but that wasn’t even important anymore.

What was important was, that he would never again see the little room with its barred windows and the bed on which bloodstains resided as well as a bloody scalpel was lying.

They would both never see it again. He hadn’t lied to Jim earlier: they would flee tonight. Or they would die trying.

The house was strangely quiet. It was eerie running through the hallways with his precious burden in the middle of the night and every time he looked down, Jim had turned his head just so that his big, luminescent eyes were staring up at Spock. The gaze in them was insane. They terrified the Vulcan. He had never been afraid of Jim. But in these moments he almost let the human fall to the ground.

‘Spock...’

The Vulcan nearly yelped. Jim’s mental voice had been silent for so long that Spock had thought he was only reduced to one big, aching wound.

“Yes Jim?” he whispered back, rounding a corner and bounding towards the big stairs leading into the entrance hall – and towards the huge double doors that were still standing open from his entry earlier that evening.

There was no answer, but Jim pressed his head tighter against Spock’s chest. The Vulcan bit the tip of his tongue and tried descending the stairs as quickly as possible without jostling the head of his precious burden too much.

Air. He could smell the cool night air. He wondered if McCoy would indeed pick him up at the gates outside, or if he had to somehow make his way into the settlement and to the hospital with Jim in his arms. Would they even be able to help Jim? Would they help them – period? Spock had no knowledge of these things and... he had no money. The thought had never mattered to him; a creature that never had the need for money, because it had been handled like a prized pet. Now, however... his inadequacies and lack of knowledge suddenly was a gaping, looming presence in the distance. Jim would have been able to help him – but Jim was barely conscious anymore.

Spock pressed his eyes closed as he ran out of the mansion. For some reason he had had the feeling that he would simply – bounce off of an invisible wall. It was childish and illogical, but he did not feel very sane himself right now.

‘Free... we’re free... Oh my God, we are free!’ he thought, standing in the night air, looking around the vast fields of grass and crops surrounding the mansion. They actually were outside. And they would leave and they would no longer be slaves and...

He started forward, his heart leaping in his side and his vision blurry with the euphoria coursing through his veins.

“Stop right there or I’ll blast your head open.”

Spock froze on the spot he had been standing on. Banta’s voice had been unmistakeable – and he fully believed him, when he made this threat. After what he had done to Jim... he believed this alien – this beast – capable of everything.

“Turn around. Slowly. One move I don’t like and you’ll be a very sorry, little Vulcan.”

Spock’s knees were trembling and he thought that when they were to buckle right now, he would probably only have time to protect Jim with his body, before Banta would shoot him down.

His knees did not buckle. He made tiny steps, slowly turning around a precise 180° and stared in open dismay at the Triptochid standing on the front porch of the huge mansion, a gun raised in one steady arm – it was pointed directly at Spock’s head.

Banta’s lips slowly stretched into a nasty grin.

“You stupid son of a bitch. You thought you could outsmart us, eh?” he taunted and nodded sharply towards Jim in the protectively clutching arms. The human had started stirring and moaning slightly again, when Banta’s voice had cut the silence of the night.

“Drop him,” the alien demanded coldly. Spock’s mouth was slightly open, while he hugged Jim closer to him like a child would hug its teddy bear and shook his head in mute denial from left to right. Banta’s lips curled ever so slightly upwards.

There was a shot and white hot pain suddenly emanated from Spock’s left shoulder. He could smell burned flesh and his copper based blood. He almost would have let Jim fall to the ground and although his arm started going numb, he clutched at his burden with the strength of a desperate man.

“Now drop him, or I’ll shoot your elbow joint next. I’m a pretty good shot,” Banta hissed, his three eyes rapidly blinking as if to demonstrate why he was such a good shot.

Spock stared helplessly, his shoulder a source of agony that was now singing in tandem with the bond connecting him to Jim.

“Do as he says,” a new voice entered the conversation and Vargaz stepped out onto the front porch. His face looked like it had been carved in granite. Utterly emotionless and hard and terrifying. Tears of hate and stubbornness sprang to Spock’s eyes, when he looked upon their two tormentors. They had been so close to freedom. They had been so close...

Very slowly and very gingerly, he started letting Jim down. The man tried to stand on wobbling legs but he had no other choice but to sit down on the ground, his head lolling uselessly from side to side, long threads of saliva mixed with blood dripping down the corners of his mouth and from his chin.

Vargaz’ face grimaced in repulsion.

“Kill the human. He is useless now,” he ordered Banta without any inflection in his voice. The Triptochid lowered his gun, pointing directly at Jim’s head. Spock, eyes wide in panic, stepped in front of his best friend, his arms stretched to each side as wide as his shackles would allow it.

“No!” he cried out in desperation. And suddenly there was emotion in Vargaz’ face – utter hate and wrath and betrayal was causing the facial features to contort until he looked like a demon straight from hell.

“So it is true!” he shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Spock. “You fucking slut have been betraying me all along!”

Spock stared mutely at him. He could hear the rustling of leaves and the crunching of stone behind him. Vargaz’ eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, his mouth opening and closing, while he was clearly searching for words that could describe the inner turmoil he was feeling right now.

Banta, on the other hand, paid no longer attention to Spock; his eyes had snapped up and were surveying something behind the Vulcan.

“Boss...” he started, but Vargaz would not hear. He grabbed frantically for the gun in Banta’s hands, wrenching it free of the bodyguard’s grip and pointing it at Spock.

“I will kill you, you damned little mutt! But not before I have killed your friend in front of your eyes. Stand aside!” he screamed. Spock pressed his lips into a narrow line, refusing to budge even one bit.

“Boss!” Banta barked now. Vargaz shoved a hand into one of his pockets. Spock did not need to see what he had in there, for a second later...

ZZzzzzt.

His arms were pulled to his body, his hands pressed against the metal collar surrounding his neck. His shoulder was pulsing in agony and he could not cut off the scream ripping from his throat.

“Stand aside!” Vargaz cried out. The hand holding the gun aimed at Spock was shaking wildly. The Vulcan closed his eyes. The threat that Vargaz would simply pull the trigger due to his unsteady hands was a very real one suddenly.

‘Jim, I’m so sorry...’ he thought. He had wanted to free his friend so badly. He had wanted to go to San Francisco with him – into the Academy. He had wanted that night out, Jim had promised him...

“Be a good ol’ boy and put your gun down, will ya, Vargaz?” a new voice drawled. Spock’s eyes snapped open in astonishment. He knew that voice – it was Doctor McCoy’s southern drawl. The Vulcan wanted to turn around in astonishment, but he was prevented from doing so by a hot weight suddenly slumping against his back and causing him to nearly stumble forward. One arm slowly snaked around his waist.

Moist, gurgling breath was pushed in and out right next to his ear.

“Jim...” Spock whispered, eyes going wide and staring up to the porch where Banta and Vargaz were standing. Banta’s face was suffused an angry violet and Vargaz was simply staring dumb and motionless towards the new development behind Spock that he had not been aware of up until now due to his vendetta against the half-Vulcan.

The breath in his ear was stuttering. Spock’s knees nearly gave way, when he recognized it – as a laugh. The second arm, that was not slung about Spock’s waist in order to keep upright, slowly raised itself from behind the Vulcan, until it was below Spock’s armpit. The bloody hand was holding a phaser in a death grip, but was eerily calm, while pointing directly at Banta’s chest. Jim was sagging ever more against Spock’s back. It already was a wonder that he was still standing upright. Spock surmised that only his formidable will was keeping him going. His will and his almost obscene desire to shoot Banta. He wanted to shoot him so bad.

‘Don’t do it, Jim. Don’t do it...’ Spock thought desperately, while leaning back against the heavily injured man. He needed to function as a counterweight, or else Jim would simply sprawl back onto the ground.

Banta was fumbling for the little remote control connected to Jim’s chip. He was pressing the button with unholy glee on his contorted face. The way his facial expression transformed in seconds to utter astonishment was almost comical. Spock did not deign to inform him of the removal of the chip – but he did allow himself a slow, superior curling of the corners of his mouth into an unmistakeably smug grin.

‘You have no power over him anymore...’

Vargaz seemed to finally have found his voice again.

“What are you doing here?! Doctor? Ambassador? You are intruding on private property and I – “

“Shut your trap, Vargaz. The Ruby totally must’ve punctured your brain by now – or have you not noticed that you are in no position to make demands? You two are outnumbered. Have you counted the guns pointed at the lumps you two call heads?!”

Spock was still marvelling at the implication that there was not only Doctor McCoy, but also his father standing behind him... defending them – when there was Jim’s voice in his head. It sounded so unbelievably strained and faint, but the command in it was unmistakeable. It was the command voice of a Captain. And although Spock always made it a point to go against Jim’s more dangerous plans and try to ground him in reality, he simply had to obey this time. He could not deny Jim this little triumph.

Spock raised his chin into the air and spoke with a clear, unwavering voice.

“My Captain has asked me to inform you both, that he is tired of seeing your sorry faces. He wishes to finally end this farce and suggests with his utmost respect that you go to where you two have come crawling out of – straight from hell, it seems.”

A short pause and then he continued, “Furthermore he would like to inform you, that he and I will be getting our own Starship in due time. We will be Officers of Starfleet. And we will hunt you down, so start running. And start running fast.”

The two stared at them. They did not budge. A shot was fired from behind Spock – he could not say if it had been McCoy or his father. The shot sizzled through the air right next to Vargaz’ head, startling the man out of his stupor.

Spock wanted to watch them retreat – wanted to see the horror on their faces, while they fled... but he could not, for the phaser fell out of Jim’s suddenly limp hand and the body at his back simply slid away and to the ground.

“Jim!” he cried in dismay, flipping around and falling to his knees. He wanted to seize his friend and hug him close to himself, but he was still bound by his shackles. Jim was lying on the ground, his eyes closed, lazy bubbles forming on his mouth.

“Jim! Jim!!” Spock screamed, although it was highly illogical to do so – he could achieve nothing with his hysteria, but in the face of his lifeless friend...

He saw McCoy kneeling down next to Jim and starting to inspect him, forehead deeply creased. Hands were gripping Spock and dragging him slightly away. He struggled and protested, his eyes fixed on Jim’s bloody form on the ground and McCoy’s ever more severe looking face.

“No! NO, I need to go to him!” Spock protested the gentle, but firm dragging of hands.

“Keep still, my son,” a voice Spock did not recognize in that moment, instructed him. He whimpered and fought against the grip, but it was strong – way stronger than he. The humming of a phaser was to be heard. Suddenly one of his arms was free. More powerful humming right next to his face, coupled with intense heat that caused a few hair around his ear to curl and burn away. And then his other arm was free.

He was crouching on the ground and slowly turned his head, staring mutely at his father. Sarek was towering above him, the phaser with which he had cut through Spock’s chains still in his hands. He looked like a God to the Vulcan in that moment.

“We need to get him into the hospital now. Ambassador – help me carrying him!” McCoy’s urgent voice cut through the night.

 

Spock kept Jim on his lap while McCoy drove like the devil himself was behind him. He was swaying slightly from side to side as if Jim was a little kid. He could see his own face in the rear view mirror. It was smeared in the red blood of his friend. He was ashen underneath all the powerful colour. His eyes were huge pools of dark brown.

He could hear McCoy mutter something about ‘He’s in total shock’, but it made no sense to him right now. He had to watch over Jim. If his friend died...

Spock pressed his face against soft blond hair and swayed only more prominently from side to side.

 

.oOo.

 

Amanda stepped hastily to the side when the bed with one pale young human man on it, was rolled past her and into the room with the large viewing window she had been standing before.

She had been watching her son – prowling through the room, his movements jerky and choppy. He was still covered in blood and had the steel manacles and the collar attached to his person. The blood on his shoulder seemed to have stopped flowing. They had tried sedatives on him, but his Vulcan metabolism shook them off like nothing. He was simply too agitated at the moment.

Amanda watched silently through the windows as the Doctors and nurses started hooking the bed up to the panel. Everything looked so crisp and white – especially next to Spock’s dirty appearance, as the Vulcan insinuated himself between the staff, grasping the limp hand of his friend.

Sarek stepped up next to her. She sought blindly for his hand and, upon finding it, held on for dear life.

“Have they been able to help that poor boy?” she whispered.

“I am not privy to that, Amanda. Doctor McCoy has informed me, that it would be quite possible for Mr. Kirk to regain his speech and everything. Only time will tell. They will be transferring him towards a hospital on earth as soon as he is stable enough to be transported.”

They watched the staff leave and stared through the one-way window at the two only occupants of the room. Spock was rounding Jim’s bed in a distressed fashion reminiscent of a dog – scrutinizing him from every angle, touching him every now and again.

“What about Spock?” Amanda whispered. They watched as the Vulcan seemed to be satisfied at last and unashamedly crawled onto the bed of his friend, gingerly drawing him into his arms and placing the head ever so carefully on his chest.

Spock was shifting about, until the nose of the unconscious man was fitting right into the groove at the base of his neck.

“He will go, where this young man goes,” Sarek answered at last.

They watched the eyes of their son fall close as he finally succumbed to all the sedatives in his system.


	20. Chapter 16: You know how hard it is for me to shake the disease that takes hold of my tongue in situations like these

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light Warning: A little angst

Jim had not been aware that he was awake, until he heard quite clearly a voice. It was a very unusual voice; high and melodic and full of warm emotions. A female voice.

“Here you are, Spock. You haven’t left the room since we got here. I thought you might want something to eat.”

Spock was here?... Hmmm, good. Jim kept his eyes close and slightly worked his jaw. He wondered what that hot, thick thing inside his mouth was and if he could spit it out before he suffocated on it. At the moment, however, it seemed like way too much hassle. He preferred to listen to Spock’s answer.

“That is... very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Amanda.” The corners of Jim’s mouth twitched slightly in amusement. Yes, that was Spock through and through. The deep baritone voice was as timid as ever and full of insecurity. Jim was certain that if he was to open his eyes now and look upon his friend, he would be able to see that faint crease between the slanted eyebrows.

“You don’t have to thank me, Spock.” The twitching of Jim’s mouth stopped when he heard the trembling in the female voice. She sounded upset. The human tried slowly opening his eyes. It was not as hard as he had thought it would be – the room was dimmed and so the bright whites and yellows did not hurt his eyes as much. He blinked a few times and searched the immediate area with his eyes, until they fell upon the two individuals standing next to a small table.

Spock was just in the process of gently placing a tray full of fruits upon the furniture. Jim’s eyes went wide at the sight and his mouth started throbbing the moment he got aware of how utterly dry it was; Spock was looking good.

He was wearing plain clothes that were nonetheless exquisite and... there were no chains. No shackles. Just smooth, naked skin was to be seen on his neck and wrists. Jim’s eyes started pouring over the lean form of his companion, straying every few seconds to the broad stripe of discoloured skin, where it had been newly generated on Spock’s neck, until he thought he would get dizzy.

“Oh, I do have to thank you... and Sarek and Doctor McCoy. You have done so much for me and Jim; we won’t ever be able to repay your kindness,” Spock was saying to that woman. She was a little shorter than the Vulcan and standing with her back to Jim, so he was only able to see a slender figure, draped in a long, dark dress and long, brown hair.

‘Who is this?’ he thought sluggishly and almost flinched when Spock’s eyes suddenly snapped to him and the lines of his face hardened immediately.

“Jim! You’re awake,” the Vulcan exclaimed, stepping towards the human and cradling his face between two long, pale hands. Jim did not struggle against the grip. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the touch of hotter-than-human skin. He opened his mouth a little with the intention to speak, but the movement hurt like crazy and all he could manage was a garbled “UUhnnngh”.

Spock shook his head and one of his hands slid down in order to place itself across the chapped lips of his human companion.

“Don’t speak. The tissue is still healing. The operation has been long,” the low baritone snaked its way past the hurt right into Jim’s brain. The young man started to blink, looking tiredly up at the alien.

‘Operation?... Spock... where am I?’ he thought and pressed his eyes close, when a gentle nudge in his psyche started pouring a few pictures of the past few days through his head. Some of them he knew... A night outside a mansion... phasers pointed at heads... a freakishly fast ride in a car.

Others were clearly not from him, but from Spock. Jim, lying pale and exhausted in a bed... A starbase he had never seen before, Spock right by his side, watching over him, although he sneaked curious glances around... A flight in a shuttle... A picture of Spock prowling in front of a swinging double door that read ‘No entry allowed for unauthorized personnel. Operation Rooms 4,6 and 8.’

Dread washed through the human and he struggled to sit up. Spock did not look happy with it, but he assisted him nonetheless, piling his cushions up, so that Jim could lean against them.

‘My tongue! Spock... What about my tongue?!’ he thought desperately, while his throat was working and another unintelligible noise was emitted. It was hard to coordinate his fierce need to speak with the thinking, so he did both somehow. His hazel eyes were fixed in dismay at the Vulcan, who slowly shook his head.

“They have regrown your tongue, Jim. But it’ll take time until you’ll be able to talk again. You’ll have to practise a lot...”

‘What? What do you mean ‘a lot’?’

“It depends on you.”

Their – admittedly strange – conversation was interrupted by the woman stepping up to the bed of the patient and smiling at him.

“Hello, James. It is such a pleasant surprise to see you finally awake,” she said and continued after his confused look, “I am Amanda Grayson. I’m the wife of Ambassador Sarek.”

Jim blinked a few times, his gaze travelling between Spock and the woman. He was still not on his game; it took him quite a long time to remember where he had heard the name of Ambassador Sarek. It has been the Vulcan visiting Vargaz and Spock, while he had been imprisoned in the mines. He cautiously nodded towards the woman, suddenly unsure with the situation. How long had he been out of it? What had happened in the days he had been passed out?

Where were Vargaz and Banta?

A shiver ran through his body and Spock slowly stroked one hand down his arm, until he could entwine their fingers.

“Sarek is currently in contact with Starfleet. They are looking for them,” the Vulcan silently said, his face as serious and unemotional as ever. Somehow it made Jim feel more at ease – this, at last, was something he knew and was familiar with; Spock’s ever serious demeanour.

“James.”

Hazel eyes shifted away from Spock’s face and towards the woman again. He thought she was probably the prettiest woman he had ever seen – but maybe that was due to the fact that he hadn’t had much female contact in five years. She stepped a little closer and Spock let his hand go in order to step aside and make room for her.

The young man blinked again a few times, shifting a little uneasily on his bed. What was going on here? The lady smiled again at him, her lips a little wobbling as if she was desperately trying to hold back tears and she gingerly placed one hand above his. Jim looked down. Such a little, delicate hand. So different to his own thick, strong fingers or even Spock’s long verdant hands.

“James,” she said again, her voice shaking just that little bit. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”

He raised his eyes again, looking at her in uneasy confusion. It was the first time he met that woman. Why was she thanking him? And for what? His eyes flicked towards Spock. The man was looking as uneasy as he, while peering over the shoulder of Amanda. She, however, was not to be deterred by the awkwardness of the two young men.

“You have been a friend and companion to my son in a time that has been most stressful for him. You stuck to him for six years and have kept his spirits up and encouraged him not to give up. I just can’t thank you enough,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes and her fingers curling around his hand, until she was clutching it with a fierceness born out of desperation. The words were bouncing around Jim’s head for a few seconds. They made no sense and seemed totally useless, until one of the words started sticking and made everything came to a screeching halt.

‘Son. Her son. Spock... her son?’ hazel eyes raised themselves towards his best friend, who was managing to look both uncomfortable and reluctantly happy, while only drawing his eyebrows together.

Spock nodded ever so slightly towards him and Jim snapped his head back around, looking at the woman again. This was Spock’s mother? And that meant... the Ambassador was his father? The implications made Jim’s head reel, while his hurting lips twitched into a tiny smile.

Spock had parents after all... how could all of this have happened? How was that possible?

“Oh dear... don’t cry, James. Don’t cry,” Amanda suddenly said. The young man had to blink again, his vision was somewhat blurry. Who was crying? He? No, James T. Kirk never cried. Never.

Or... maybe he did... when the most important person in his life suddenly had parents... maybe then he cried. A little bit.

A gurgle escaped his throat, when the woman suddenly drew him into her arms and pressed him against her. It hurt his exhausted body, but he had no strength to extricate himself from the arms. One hand laid itself in his hair and pressed his face into the crook of her neck. She was warm and so soft and she smelled of tulips.

It hurt his throat to cry and his arms were still weak as a kitten, when he hesitatingly drew them around her body, but it felt so good and right in that moment to just let go of all the fear and hate of more than five years.

 

He could not have said how much time had gone by, but the door opened and a nurse entered and they had to let go of one another. It was only when Amanda stepped away towards her son and smiled tremulously at Spock; when Jim saw two pair of identical eyes look at one another; that he realized something.

‘Spock... what about my family?’

The half-Vulcan turned towards him, open dismay on his face.

“I had not thought about it, Jim... I am sorry. I am sure we will find your family,” the Vulcan said. Amanda’s eyebrows shot up and she jutted her chin forward defiantly.

“Of course we’ll find them! I’ll get right to it.”

And with that she was gone out of the room, leaving confused looking young men behind her.

Spock started nibbling on the fruits, while the nurse examined Jim. The two men were placid and content and even the young human went along with everything she said and did, not showing any of his usual stubbornness or pride.

However, they did not take their eyes from one another – not one second.

 

.oOo.

 

“Jim wishes to thank you for your help,” Spock said into the silence of the car, while the landscape of sunny, dry, unexciting Iowa was rushing past the windows.

It was five days later and both Jim and Spock had rebelled long enough that the hospital had finally given Jim the permission to leave. The Vulcan had second thoughts now, though, due to Jim sitting at his side and his exhausted head rolling around on Spock’s shoulder.

Maybe they should have waited a little longer...

Amanda looked towards them through the rear view mirror and smiled.

“Oh, that’s no problem, dear. I assure you, I am as curious as you are. I’ve written your mother both an e-mail and a letter, but there was no response. It’s a shame that your brother lives on the planet Deneva now, but I am sure you will get the opportunity to meet him some day.”

Spock felt Jim pressing a little more against him and closed his eyes slowly. His friend seemed changed since he had awoken. Jim was way more tactile and timid than usual. It made the Vulcan feel uneasy. He would have thought nothing would stop the human after he realized that they were finally free, but... Jim seemed for all intents and purposes totally shell-shocked and nothing could draw him out of his stupor.

“Doctor McCoy wanted me to inform you that your first appointment with him will be on Monday,” Spock said into the silence. Jim stirred a little, but did not even grunt to acknowledge it. There were no real thoughts coming through their connection either. It was as if the words had simply bounced off of him.

Spock frowned a little and craned his neck in order to look into the face of his companion. Jim’s hazel eyes were fixed out of the window and upon the sight of Iowa on a hot afternoon.

“He said you would need to work hard to get your speech back before the Academy starts,” Spock goaded, trying to get some reaction out of Jim – positive or negative. The human, however, did nothing.

Amanda was watching them through the rear view mirror again. She hadn’t had much contact with those two boys. Both the Doctors and Sarek had assured her that it would be better if she let them be for the time being, so they could slowly orient themselves in the new world they were living in and she had reluctantly agreed – although it was hard to stay even one second away from her child and the young man she silently had adopted the second he had cried on her shoulder.

To see them both so sad even though they finally were out of that nightmare, was breaking her heart.

‘But they are not out of it... not really,’ she thought and sighed deeply. In the distance a huge building came into view – the Kirk farm.

“Sarek has looked into apartments near Starfleet Academy. I think we have found something where you two will be happy,” she said into the depressed silence. The dark eyes of her son raised themselves immediately.

“That... that is very nice of you, Amanda. But... we can’t possibly accept it,” he said haltingly. It gave her a stab every time Spock called her ‘Amanda’, but she could not pressure him into calling her ‘Mother’.

“Oh, you can. Don’t you worry yourselves!” she exclaimed with forced joy. She had fought with Sarek over the issue where the two were supposed to live. She was not happy with the thought that a couple of young men that had been shut off from society for years should suddenly be living alone. She would have preferred giving them a room in her own house and doling affection on them.

“If they want to attend Starfleet, they have to learn how to take care of themselves. If you insist on mothering them, they won’t get that kind of education,” Sarek had said. His face had been perfectly placid, but Amanda was accustomed to all the little nuances on his face. He had the same doubts as Amanda: the chance that the boys would actually be admitted to the Academy was... small. Very small.

But how could she tell them that and smash the only thing that had kept them going? How could she throw the truth into their faces, when she could see clearly Jim perking up, showing a little more interest in his surroundings?

‘Maybe... they’ll surprise us all,’ she thought, desperately wanting to believe it, too.

But it was hard.

 

Jim was searching for Spock’s hand the second he gingerly stepped out of the car. The Vulcan let his hand be gripped in an almost crushing grasp and stood silently at his friend’s sight, surveying their surroundings, while Jim tried getting his equilibrium back.

‘I thought I’d never see it again, Spock,’ Jim thought through the bond. Everything was still in the thick air. No cattle were out on the fields and the windows of the main house looked dusty and smudged, when they drew nearer. Amanda, having locked the hovercar, smiled towards the two men and made her way to the house. Jim and Spock still stood uncertainly in the middle of the front yard, looking timidly about, until the human slightly straightened his shoulders and started going forward after Spock’s mother. The Vulcan felt an inexplicable surge of joy in the face of Jim actively doing something.

They could hear Amanda pounding on the door and calling, “Hello? Somebody home?”, while they strolled along the house.

‘It looks like no one has lived here for some time,’ Jim said, while hazel eyes slowly took in their surroundings. Spock had to silently agree. Everything seemed old and scuffed and without any life. Nonetheless, he felt a certain friction of excitement. This was Jim’s past. This was, where he had lived fifteen years of his life. It was his home.

‘Come, I show you where I have played with Sam when there was rain and we could not go outside.’

Jim lead and Spock willingly followed, while Amanda was still pounding and calling in the background, going to one of the smudged windows and rubbing with her sleeve on its surface in order to peer inside.

The two men were heading towards the adjoining stables, when they heard something other than the dry thuds of their footsteps on the ground: scratching and rustling. It was coming out of the building that they were headed for.

Jim emitted a low, questioning grunt and threw Spock a look over his shoulder. The Vulcan minutely shrugged and nodded towards the partially opened doors. They were approaching with the utmost care – years of having been scolded and reprimanded for every toe out of line were still deeply ingrained in their beings. Spock could feel the calloused hand in his grasp starting to sweat, the nearer they got to the door and the louder the rummaging inside the stable got. Someone was inside, that much was certain.

The half-Vulcan was the one gently nudging the door further open, so they were able to step inside. The barn was spacious and the sunlight streaming in made it look friendly and homely. By this time Jim’s fingernails were digging rather painfully into the skin of Spock’s hand. The familiarity of it all was causing his friend nearly physical pain. It thrummed through the bond and made the Vulcan’s heart sag with sadness.

Shouldn’t it be a happy occasion to come back home after so much time? In a perfect world it should not be accompanied by such a jumble of volatile emotions... there was happiness and joy, yes, but there also was grief and sadness and a sense of guilt and it all made the Vulcan dizzy.

There was a movement to their immediate right and for the fraction of a second both tensed and prepared to jump in front of the other, until they could identify that the person emerging from the shadows was no threat. It was a woman, a little plumper than Amanda, her curly brown-blond hair dusty and in disarray; just like her clothes. She held something glinting in her hands. It looked metallic to Spock. She was intently peering down upon it, while making her way towards the door and the two men standing in the frame.

The inner turmoil thrumming through the bond had suddenly ceased and Jim was silently standing, seemingly trying to break Spock’s hand in his iron grip. It was not hard to discern who this human female was.

“Missus Kirk?” Spock ventured carefully –Jim was in no condition to speak, after all. He could hear rustling behind him and knew that Amanda obviously had realized that something was going on in here and had come to investigate.

The woman did not look up at being addressed, but still advanced on them.

Amanda tried it this time, “Missus Kirk? My name is Amanda, I have written you a couple days prior, that your son...”

She trailed off. The woman had reached them and was walking past the three people without looking up. Spock and his mother exchanged a mystified glance, while Jim seemed to come to his senses all of a sudden and made a jerky movement towards his own mother, exclaiming “Gguuuh!” while his hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

Winona stopped abruptly and turned her head around. Her face looked pasty and unhealthy, her eyes were slightly unfocussed and set deep in their sockets. The gaze swept from Amanda to Spock and then landed on Jim’s face.

“Missus Kirk?” Amanda ventured again, after there was no reaction whatsoever coming from the woman – neither a negative nor a positive... or even if she recognized them as being here. Winona shook her head slowly after a few seconds, turned around and resumed her walk to the house, while she started fiddling with the device in her hands again.

Jim’s mouth was opening and closing uselessly a few times, his face so openly shattered that Spock stepped back, drawing Jim around and away from his mother. He did not know what was going on. He had little concept of knowing what was normal behaviour of humans and what was not – but a short glance at his mother’s crestfallen face told him, that this was nothing usual.

Suddenly Winona came to a halt, just shy of stepping onto the front porch of her farmhouse. She slowly turned around towards them again and started looking intently on the three people standing next to her barn on the yard of her little estate. Her unfocussed eyes came to rest on the back of the head of her son.

Red blotches started forming on her cheeks and there was a strange twitching going through her body. It looked choppy and unhealthy – as if she was having some kind of stroke.

“J... J...” she stuttered and the young human man whirled around at the sound of her voice and stared at her.

“J...Jimmy?” she garbled, the glinting steel falling out of her hands and colliding with the ground in a dull thud. Spock realized with a start, that the woman was not having some kind of stroke, but that she was having a stroke. He realized it in the same second as the woman started falling and Jim started running towards her. The young man could not catch her entirely, but at least his legs were sliding under her neck and head, before it hit the ground, where she was twitching convulsively.

 

Jim’s return to his roots was no joyous occasion.

 

.oOo.

 

“She’s got a brain tumour. From what it looks like, it’s been there for a few months. I guess no one has been looking after her since her oldest has left for Deneva with his wife and kids,” Bones said to the little group of people standing in front of him in the hallway.

He looked from one stoic, placid Ambassador Sarek to a calm looking Spock, further to a deeply saddened Amanda and lastly to Jim who looked like his world had been torn apart yet again. Which, quite frankly, it has been.

The young man took one step towards him.

His throat was convulsing heavily and the corners of his mouth were twitching. Spock spoke for his companion, “Will she be alright?”

McCoy bit the tip of his tongue and sighed raggedly.

“She might be. If she can recover from her shock and if she opens her eyes again within the next 48 hours, there might be a chance to apply certain procedures. If she does not...” The Georgian man trailed off and looked into the crestfallen face of Jim. He wondered why they always met under such dire circumstances. He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air. He did not want to tell the young man that there was a good chance of Winona dying – or retaining heavy brain damage.

“We will stay with her,” Spock intoned calmly, folding his hands in front of his stomach and stepping to Jim. It surprised no one.

 

.oOo.

 

Jim sat at his mother’s side, looking down upon her face. Spock stood at the window.

‘She has saved me in the mines.’

Spock turned around upon that thought and looked at his friend.

“What do you mean?”

‘I’ve had... I’ve had hallucinations down there. Because of the gasses. I saw her and she told me so many nice things. That she’s proud of me. And that she’s not angry with me for... for whoring myself out.’

The Vulcan slowly came nearer, while Jim stretched one arm out and stroked with calloused fingers across one pasty cheek.

‘She’s been thinner then... and prettier...’

“Doctor McCoy has told me that the tumour has left her unaware of what was going on. It was not her fault, Jim... the change was so gradual she could not have noticed it herself.”

‘What if she does not survive this, Spock? I wanted her to... to be present when I graduate from the Academy...’

Spock came to a halt next to his sitting friend and gingerly stroked his hair when Jim ducked his head against the lean stomach of his friend.

Spock marvelled at the way that Jim had been so fierce these past years, never letting himself be brought down. But now he simply seemed... hollow. Now, that they were out of the thick of it.

It was not fair.

Spock held on to his friend.

 

.oOo.

 

That night Winona opened her eyes. They were unfocussed and she said nothing to her son or the Doctor and nurses swarming in, but Spock had never felt such a wave of pure joy coming from his friend.

Never had he been so happy for another one’s contentment.

 

.oOo.

 

Their shoulders were brushing, while they walked down the street, but they did not think it necessary to step further away from one another. The many people on the sidewalks were intimidating and seemingly threatening. Their anxiety was bouncing through their bond and caused them after a few minutes to throw one another amused, nervous glances.

They had so much to work on. Only four and a half months until they could take the test for entering Starfleet and they had to work on everything.

They had to learn life anew. In baby steps. In increments. And four and a half months seemed way too short.

Would they be able to do it?

Jim was looking at his friend again, his eyes falling on the broad stripe of gently green tinged skin around the slender neck. It looked like Spock was wearing a collar of mint-green silk. It was ridiculous.

Jim adored it. It was the symbol of their freedom.

They walked past newspaper stands, announcing in screaming headlines the return of Ambassador Sarek’s son after fifteen years. They heard people chat about it in passing. None of them recognized Spock – and Jim thought that was for the best.

He thought of his Mom, lying in hospital for a week now. She was still disoriented and not speaking, but he thought... well it seemed... that she was trying to smile a little, when he visited her. Maybe he just imagined it, but... well.

“Here...” Spock suddenly murmured, peering towards the name of the street being clearly announced by an electronic slate above their heads.

They rounded a corner and, despite the many people washing around them, just stood still and stared.

At Starfleet Academy and the wide, juicy looking lawns around it.

Jim and Spock did not notice their hands entwining with one another, while they stood there staring at the goal of their long journey.

‘Now we'll have to look for a new goal, Spock.’

Spock’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

“I, for one, already have one.”

He laid his head back into his neck and looked up into the light, blue sky. Jim, though, still feasted on the sight of the Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Epilogue
> 
> Thank you so, so much for the wonderful comments


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None

Spock looked around with a certain amount of curiosity. He valiantly tried not to show it, but he supposed that he had failed, when he saw the amused twinkle in Amanda’s eyes. They were currently on the 6th floor of an apartment building only two blocks away from the Academy. Looking up and down the hallway, one could see shoes standing outside, slightly crooked nametags next to doorframes and ancient looking floral wreaths hanging in front of doors, where they had been forgotten by their owners.

‘It’s perfect,’ Jim piped up and Spock could only agree. This apartment was nothing special – to be honest it was almost run down; but it was occupied by cadets from the Academy and that alone made it in the eyes of the two young men seem like heaven.

Jim was bouncing on the balls of his feet, while Amanda drew the keys out of her pocket. Spock watched his excited friend with a certain sense of satisfaction. Jim hadn’t been really happy since the night his mother had opened her eyes and that was almost two weeks past now.

In fact, he had been almost depressed – his two training sessions with Doctor McCoy had not brought the results he would have liked and that made him testy and impatient.

Jim wanted to talk and he wanted to do it now. But to learn the workings of his tongue anew... took time.

The door was opened and Jim rushed inside, almost running Amanda down, who snorted and followed in measured steps. Spock wanted to follow, but the voice of his father, who had been very quiet up until now, held him back.

“May I speak to you, Spock?”

“Of... course, Sarek.”

He shot the Ambassador an almost shy look. It already was awkward to interact with Amanda – although she made it kind of nice, due to her warm demeanour – but to interact with Sarek... well. It was not easy. In Spock’s eyes the older Vulcan was everything he had ever wanted to be – he was perfect. He only needed to look at him to realize all those things he did not know about his own people and that made him feel woefully inadequate. It was... intimidating.

The dark eyes of the full-blooded Vulcan appraised him slowly, slanted eyebrows drawn ever so slightly together, before the little crease between them – the same crease Spock got, when he thought very hard – smoothed out again.

“Your mother was rather reluctant to let you and James live here in this...” he looked shortly around, “... establishment. She is concerned about you two not being able to manage everything.”

Spock slowly folded his hands in front of his stomach.

“It is true, that I have very little experience with what it means to live alone... but James is very knowledgeable and crafty. He thinks that we will get ‘the hang’ of it, so to speak, and I trust him implicitly,” the young half-Vulcan intoned serenely, while cocking his head to the side and listening to his mother talking and the scraping and rustling that was obviously James inspecting what was to be their new territory.

He did not see the strange glint entering Sarek’s eyes. The older Vulcan let his gaze wander quickly over his son. It rested for the fraction of a second on the discoloured tissue around Spock’s neck. The visible reminder of fifteen years spent as a slave.

“Yes, I know that you do, Spock,” he agreed silently and continued, after the young man had turned his head towards him again, “You and James share... a lot. It is plainly visible, that you two have managed to attune yourselves to one another. I would suggest you utilize that... connection. Do not let go of it. It will only serve to aid you in your future. Whatever it may entail.”

Sarek carefully chose his words. He was not entirely sure about the nature of the bond connecting Spock and James and he did not want to speculate. His inherent scientific curiosity wanted to meld with his son and ascertain the secret, but he refrained from doing so. There would still be enough time; for now it was paramount that the two started coming down from the stress they had been subjected to the past weeks.

Since James had started walking about, they had spent their days and nights partly in the hospital, partly at the Ambassador’s home. They were restless – to no small amount because of Lady Kirk’s health – and Amanda and he had witnessed something very disturbing more often than he cared to determine. Every now and again, when the young men thought themselves not watched, a deep, terrible sadness entered their faces.

It was a kind of loneliness and hopelessness born out of years spent in fear and isolation. Especially Spock seemed to get every now and again a shell-shocked look, gazing about him, as if he was almost fearing his surroundings.

The more the Ambassador got to know these two extraordinary men, the more he realized all the deficiencies they had suffered from their ongoing maltreatment. But where James was at least able to slowly pull from his life previous to his imprisonment, Spock made it glaringly obvious that there were a lot of aspects of social interaction that he simply was not privy of.

The Vulcan looked upon his son in quiet contemplation. Only when Spock’s pale face started suffusing with a light green tinge, did he realize that the younger man was starting to get uncomfortable.

“What I wanted to express was, that neither Amanda nor I would be put out, if you or James were to ask for advise or help, Spock. I have noted these past days a tendency from both of you to keep to yourselves,” the Ambassador intoned finally. Spock’s eyes flicked for a second down and the blush from before started creeping into the tips of his ears. Sarek was by this blatant emotional display once again reminded of the fact that Spock had practically no Surakian training.

The young man was trying – that much was obvious – and Sarek was quite frankly amazed, that his son had been able to become so balanced and gentle in his demeanour, for the savage blood of their ancestors must be raging under his surface savagely.

“I am still quite occupied with various bureaus due to your return and Mister Vargaz’ disappearance, but I would like to make an offer, if it was amenable to you, Spock,” the Ambassador continued, when it became apparent, that his son was not about to answer.

A wary look entered the expressive eyes and Spock’s shoulders raised infinitesimally up to his ears as if preparing for a blow.

“Yes?” he ventured carefully. Sarek concluded after only the fraction of a second, that it would be best, if he did not dwell on this reaction and ponder where it came from

“I would like to teach you in the Vulcan mind techniques and take you someday back to Vulcan itself.”

Before there was any reaction, Spock’s eyes flinched towards the open door of the apartment, where one could hear Amanda faintly say, “It’s a little cramped, but I’m sure we can fit two computers right here...”

Sarek, sensing what was going through Spock’s head, amended stoically, “James would, of course, be invited as well.”

Spock’s lips started curling upwards just the tiniest bit. His eyes were still wary, as if he was not sure if he could believe it, but it seemed nonetheless, as if his face as beaming.

“I would really enjoy that. Thank you, Sarek.”

Slim shoulders jerked suddenly and Spock turned away a little.

“Jim is calling.”

“Then I suggest we go investigate your new domain.”

 

Spock was at awe, quite frankly. Of course he was used to big mansions, packed full with exquisite pieces of art, but this here... those two rooms with a little niche for a kitchen and a small bath, seemed like heaven. Simply because it was theirs.

Jim was chatting away through the bond, his hands seizing Spock every now and again in order to guide his attention to various bits and pieces in the already partly furnished apartment. Slowly, three weeks after their escape from slavery, it hit home to Spock, that they were – truly and honestly – free.

 

“...and I will be back tomorrow and take you both shopping; you definitely need clothing. You should also compile a list of everything you might need. I hope that the computers will get delivered in time, so you can start working and – can you handle them?” Amanda was babbling away in a mixture of uneasiness and fondness.

The two young men standing in front of her were looking quite overwhelmed. Now, though, Jim jerked with a squawk of indignation (his face going red with embarrassment) and Spock quickly said, “Jim is quite adapt with everything electronic. We will certainly manage.” He concluded with a shy, “Thank you so much.”

Amanda bit her lower lip. She looked torn and unhappy, her gaze steadily sweeping over Spock and Jim and the little apartment. Sarek, his facial expression seemingly set in stone, turned towards the door.

“Come, my wife. They should get the opportunity to acclimate themselves,” he said, holding out his hand with two outstretched fingers. Reluctantly, Amanda turned away, placing her fingers on his.

“You are right. Good bye, boys,” she said, turning towards the door. However, they were stopped by Spock’s voice.

“Maybe you could... point us to the next cinema?”

Amanda turned around, surprise clear on her face. Spock’s ears were turning green, while Jim had an expression of fierce determination on his face. She shortly glanced back into the severe face of her husband, before she started to smile tremulously.

 

.oOo.

 

They were not concentrating on the pictures themselves. They were sitting in the plush seats – very gingerly, as if afraid to be called upon it and told that they were not distinguished enough to do so – and were looking about the dark room, their arms lying upon one another on the armrest between them. They were completely engulfed in the atmosphere around them. Jim watched Spock almost as much as he stared at the moving pictures on the big screen. The Vulcan’s eyes looked like liquid chocolate.

Some time half way through, Jim leaned over and pressed an innocent kiss to Spock’s ear. He could feel the shudder running through the Vulcan and smiled.

 

Jim had spoken of eating in a chic restaurant, back when they had been in the mansion; but Spock was, to be honest, perfectly happy with sitting on a bench in the warm glow of the evening and eating his chips, while Jim was eagerly gobbling down a hotdog.

The Vulcan felt dizzy due to all the happenings of the day, but it was a nice kind of dizziness that filled him up and made him feel all warm inside.

‘My tongue hurts.’

“Then stop eating.”

‘Never.’

“At least try not to choke and swallow your tongue. You won’t be getting a third one,” Spock said, while watching a young woman walking past them with her child on her hand. Jim huffed next to him and stole one of his chips, but slowed down in his eating, nonetheless.

‘You really like flowers, don’t you? I had thought you only tended to them because K’troll ordered you to do so,’ Spock heard Jim through the bond.

He was a little startled out of his reverie – he had not even noticed, that he had been intently gazing at the little, white flowers growing on the other side of the path.

A certain uneasiness started up in the Vulcan’s gut. He and Jim had talked very little about what had happened – while still slaves, there had been little need to do so and after their escape there had been little opportunity.

“I really like them,” he admitted.

‘You said they give you something back.’

“They were my only friends.”

They lapsed into silence. Jim finished his meal and leaned back against the bench.

‘They haven’t found Vargaz and Banta yet?’

“No, but Sarek is still at it.”

‘I hope they do not find them.’

Spock’s head snapped around and his soft, brown eyes looked at Jim in confusion. The human smiled a bitter, hateful smile. The emotions trickling through their bond made Spock shudder in revulsion.

‘I want to hunt them down, Spock. I want my revenge – K’troll has cheated me out of it by dropping dead. But I won’t let Banta get away with it. I will get to them.’

The Vulcan felt goosebumps rise on his arms. Jim turned his head and looked at him in irritation.

‘Don’t you want to get your revenge?!’

Spock’s eyes slid away from the fierce gaze and back to the little flowers.

“I simply want to... forget. Everything,” he whispered and stood, slowly making his way through the park.

A few moments later, Jim brushed up to him. However, Spock did not react, until something cool and moist touched his left ear.

He flinched, dislodging whatever had been tucked behind the tip of his ear and bringing his hands up in reflex, catching the small something between the cradling palms of his hands.

Spock halted, slowly opening his clasped hands and peering down at what was lying in them.

One lonely flower; its delicate, white petals radiating a soft, ethereal glow in the dimness of the night.

The half-Vulcan looked up towards his companion. Jim stood with an overly straight back, slightly turned away, his face pointing towards the ground – probably in an effort to conceal his red cheeks from the other man. Spock could feel the embarrassment radiating through the bond and marvelled at the implications of such a gesture coming from such a fiercely masculine creature.

The alien raised his hand and twined the little flower with economic, swift gestures into the thick, blond hair of his friend.

Jim looked strangely vulnerable for a second, until he had himself back under control.

They walked home in silence; each deep in thoughts. They were not always happy thoughts, but that was no problem, because they were together.

 

A light, stuttering panting was filling the room; they had left the curtains and the door open, allowing the silver moonlight of a rare, clear San Francisco night to paint their naked bodies, while they gently rubbed against one another.

Spock braced himself on his elbows. His lips were slightly parted, enabling him to drag much needed air into his lungs, while he looked down into Jim’s face. The cheeks of the young man were suffused an enticing red and his hazel eyes were looking gilded in the unusual light.

“You are beautiful,” Spock whispered into the silence, while flexing his hips and letting his cock slip along Jim’s pulsing erection. The human moaned, straining upwards, while simultaneously turning his head away from the intense gaze of the Vulcan; he was obviously ill at ease with the unusual declaration – especially in light of this strangely emotion-filled evening.

Spock frowned, raising one arm and seizing the jaw of the young man. He turned Jim’s face back to him and pressed his lips against the quivering mouth.

When his tongue snaked out and lapped at their seam, begging for entrance, Jim stiffened underneath him.

‘No... my tongue,’ the sluggish thought was transmitted through their bond. Spock drew his eyebrows together in another frown and flexed his hips again.

He felt a delectable friction of skin on skin from Jim’s legs, that were bent at the knees and cradling the Vulcan to his hip.

The human had no other choice than to moan again. Spock utilized the opportunity immediately, slipping his moist tongue into the previously forbidden cavern.

Jim whimpered, his broad, calloused hands clutching Spock’s shoulders in a painful grip. The Vulcan let himself not be deterred, rubbing up against the slick muscle of his companion, while simultaneously swaying his hips in a slow, intense rhythm that had Jim clutch at him with his muscular thighs.

It took a while, until the stubborn human could be enticed to engage in the kiss. Spock could feel the heat of Jim’s embarrassed blush against his own face and only intensified his efforts.

The kiss was uncoordinated and slow; the swipes of Jim’s new tongue uncertain.

It could not have been better.

At last, Jim couldn’t take the slow grinding and delicious burning in his genitals anymore. He broke free of the kiss and slung his arms around Spock’s shoulders, drawing him down and hiding his face against the hot, oh-so-soft surface of the unchained neck.

Calloused fingertips scrabbled across the rough battlefield of Spock’s back, rubbing, scratching, caressing... feeling Spock, while his hips twitched frantically upwards against the hard, sinewy body.

When their blood finally seemed to boil over and their testicles drew up high and tight to their bodies in an almost cramp-like motion, they were totally silent – in fact, they forgot how to breathe for the long duration it took the lights to stop dancing in front of their eyes.

 

When Spock came back from their little bathroom, a moist towel in his hands, he stopped in front of the window and looked out into the night.

Jim, lying unashamedly naked on the bed, watched the nude form of his best friend. The atmosphere in the room was strange, but not uncomfortable.

Spock stopped looking at whatever had taken his interest and made his way to the bed.

‘Have I told you, that Bones is going to move in a floor beneath us?’ Jim asked, while Spock wiped at their emissions pooling on the human’s flat belly.

Spock mutely shook his head. Jim smiled slightly and drew the Vulcan down towards him. Spock gently took the little flower, that had been loosened from Jim’s hair during their activities, from the cushion next to Jim and laid it down on the side table, before following the pull of the strong arms.

Jim laid his head against Spock’s, their breath mingling between them, like it had so often in the past six years.

The young man started thinking about how everything had been two months ago. They had been alone and near the breaking point.

Granted – during their stay with Vargaz and Banta, they had been down as well and more than once nearly given up – but now they were no longer alone. They had Bones and Amanda and Sarek and – hopefully – his mother.

They were still sane ... mostly. They still had each other.

Jim was certain, that they would reach whatever goal they would set for themselves. They were stubborn bastards – and clever.

They had been as low as a being could get... and yet they had overcome their challenges and were ready to start a new life with all new hurdles and difficulties.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. There will, in all likeliness, be a sequel somewhere down the road :). Until then I'll start uploading other works, so... yeah...^^
> 
> Cyberrat


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